Call off the Raid

I had just gotten off work, and I was taking a shower. I hear my mom say, "Son, someone is here to see you."
"Alright," I say, "I'll be out in a minute." So I finish up in the shower, dry off, get dressed, and walk out of my bedroom. As soon as I open the door, I'm greeted by a man in a suit wearing sunglasses.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"Come with me," he says. So I follow him into my living room, where I see another man in a suit, and the recliner pointing away from me.
"Sit down," a voice says from the recliner. So I sit down on my couch. The recliner spins around, and sitting in it is none other than the President of the United States of America, Donald J. Trump. "Hello. How are you doing today?"
My heart drops. He knows. Everyone knows. The post was supposed to be anonymous, but somehow they figured it out. And now, I must face the consequences.
"G-good," I reply sheepishly. "H-how are you?"
"I'm not too happy. Not. Happy."
"Why is that?"
"wHy iS tHaT?!?" He mocks me. He points at me with his smaller-than-normal-but-still-pudgy finger. "You know goddamn well why I'm not fucking happy!"
I feign ignorance as much as I can. "Sir, what are you talking about?"
"Oh you don't know? Show him." One of the men in suits withdraws an iPad from his jacket. On the screen was something that I know will haunt me for the rest of my life.
A Facebook event titled "Storm Area 51, They Can't Stop All of Us".
"Does that jog your memory?" Donald asks. "Do you understand why I'm unhappy? Do you understand why I've come to see you today?"
I remain silent.
"You may have thought you were clever by posing as a religious organization but you were dead wrong. Mark fucking Zuckerberg himself supplied us with information that led us here to you. We've already captured your friends, the event planner and the gaming video creator, they were useless, they knew nothing. Bunch of fucking amateurs if you ask me. But you. You seem to be the mastermind behind this operation. You think you're gonna get a bunch of fucking nerds to break into the most secretive military base in the goddamn galaxy?"
I wait for him to continue but it's becoming obvious that he wants a response. "I- That was just a joke! No one was ever supposed to take it seriously!"
"Yeah like I'm gonna believe that. As of right now eight hundred thousand people say that they are planning to show up on our doorstep and fuck us in the ass!" He paused for a bit. "Call it off."
"W-what?"
"What are you, retarded AND deaf? I said call off the raid! Stand down!"
"But sir, I-" "FUCKING DO IT YOU IMBECILE!" I notice that the two men in suits have their hands resting on their holsters.
"Your parents are in the basement," Donald says. "Two more of my men are down there with them. With three taps of my foot, I will have your mother and father executed. Now I am asking you nicely. Call off the raid."
I take out my phone and open Facebook. I open the event and write this message:
>Weebs and Weebettes,
>I regret to inform you that the raid has been cancelled. There will be no more storming Area 51. Please do not try to go without me. Stay home. There is no reason for us to go there.
Before hitting post, I show my phone to Donald Trump. "How's that?" I ask.
One of the men snatches my phone and reads the post out loud. Donald shakes his head. "It's missing something."
The man with my phone types something and then reads it: "I am a huge doodoo-head. Trump 2020."
Donald smiles. "Perfect! Now if you'll do the honors."
The man holds my phone in front of me. I hit post.
"Great," Donald says, "That's all we needed." He gets out of the recliner and walks to the door leading to my basement. "Boys, come on up. We're done here." Two men in suits come out of the basement. Donald turns to me. "Now I'm going to celebrate this momentous occasion by going to the White House and fucking the brains out of my smoking hot daughter, Ivanka Trump." And at that moment, everyone left.
I go downstairs to find my parents perfectly fine. "What was that about?" My dad asks.
"Oh, nothing. He just wanted to talk." "About what?" My mom says. "Uhh... stuff?"
"The President of the United States of America," my dad says, "wanted to talk to you... about stuff?"
"Yes?"
My mom looks at my dad, confused. "But... I'm stuff."