As a dangerous psychopath I wear a mask and so should you

As a dangerous psychopath it’s my responsibility to blend into society, to take my taboo tastes and hide them behind a persona that dogmatically adheres to social mores. The psychiatric community calls this my “mask of sanity.”

Think of me as a trend spotter, but instead of wide waist belts and cashmere scarves, I sense which norms are in fashion. At the dawn of the COVID-19 pandemic, I knew that limiting the contagion would be in this season. So I invested in face masks before supplies went scarce. I’ve been wearing a mask of sanity all my life. What was one more?

I never thought I’d be making a political statement, much less virtue signaling.

In truth, I never feel a moral responsibility for my actions. I hold no reverence for the social contract and I have no compassion for the downtrodden. Apart from a morbid curiosity, I feel nothing for my community. From the cutest infant to the wisest grandparent, I see people as a means to an end. I fantasize about the fall of civilization so I that I may showcase what I truly am. Until then it’s important that I fit in.

And yet I never thought wearing a mask, during a global pandemic, would win me many points.

Like an actor researching a role, I’ve spent a lifetime studying the human condition. I’ve learned when to echo righteous sentiment, when to mimic mob mentality, and when to emulate the empathy of those around me. Lacking an emotional core, I am a classical actor, inhabiting behaviors, and leaning into the expectations of my audience. I am a cultural chameleon swapping spiritual and political convictions based on how I read the room.

But I assumed a mask would fit every occasion, because they just make sense.

Attributes like charity and virtue are but merit badges on my person suit, pieces of flare to draw the eye away from the scales underneath. Every time I give away my spot in line, open a door, or bless a sneeze I am approximating altruism. Every time I refuse a compliment or feign humility I am playing a part. Nice guys finish last, but performatively nice guys get all the moral dessert they can stomach.

And yet when I first put on a mask, I never thought anyone ought to pat me on the back.

I have only ever admitted to having the mildest of psychological conditions for the privileges it afforded me. I have only ever grieved for attention. I have only ever shown weakness so that others might mistake it for kindness. I shed crocodile tears on command. Inside, I’m all apathy, a reptilian robot who’d drive you to madness just to settle a bet with myself.

But I’d put a mask on before doing it. Of course.

While you look for an out from watercooler banter I dig my heels in. I relish ever opportunity to practice social graces to check if my mask has slipped. Introversion is a luxury for those still clinging to some semblance of sanity. Serial liars need to audit themselves to see if others are still buying what we’re selling. We stock up on empty pleasantries and make a big deal out of small talk. We gage our baseline all the time.

People assume the best about me. My manipulation is so subtle, you’ll thank me for it. My cruelty is so casual it doesn’t have a tell. Even dogs can’t sense my intent.

My persona is a Craigslist ad come to life, a piece of corporate copy on a Golem’s tongue, a living parody of a positive people person. The real me sits at the 3-way junction of Narcissism, Machiavellianism, and Psychopathy. I’m like a Shakespearean villain whose only motivation is the schadenfreude I get from all the chaos I’m unleashing.

Accept when faced with wearing a mask or defying medical establishment I went with the mask. Now I don’t care if you or you extended family get sick. Plagues and forest fires are all part of the natural order, but as long as lumbers on I’m going to use it for cover.

Like a death’s head moth in a chrysalis, I am still evolving, still growing to my full strength. What the DSM-5 calls a characteristic of antisocial personality disorder I call “my great becoming.” I am demigod casting off this filth-riddle vessel. Soon I will singe the remains of this flesh prison and transcend the laws of man.

And yet the entire time I’m rising to my rightful place in the pantheon of the dragon I’m doing so with a mask on.

On Facebook, I see articles with titles like “People who ignore social distancing rules may have psychopathic personality traits, study finds” and I can’t help but think, “Stop giving those weak-ass sociopaths that much credit.” If you score under 30 on the Psychopathy checklist, and refuse to wear a mask, you’re not a psychopath. You’re not privy to a great becoming.

You’re just an asshole.

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Continue reading As a dangerous psychopath I wear a mask and so should you

Angry werewolves erupt at meeting over poop bag ruling

At the turn of the 20th century the streets of London were paved in poop. From the cobblestones to the gutters the city was teeming with manure. The sewer system had gone aboveground. Every underpass became an outhouse and every hill became a crapshoot. Horse drawn carriages left thick juicy road apples down the medians and commoners were left to contend with the stench.

Horses produced 15 to 35 pounds of feces a day. With 50,000 stallions used for transportation, Oxford Street was ground zero for a 625 ton avalanche of excrement.

This tidal wave of fecal matter drove flies to every street corner and every butt truffle they dined on came with a side a typhoid fever. Cities everywhere were drowning in a downpour of dookie and disease. Everyday New York had its own 1,250 ton shitstorm. Something had to be done.

That’s when Henry Ford invented the Model T and the herds of dung dumpers were retired.

Palm Beach County Florida is having its own crap crisis

Driving down Clematis Street in West Beach Florida, it’s hard not to draw comparisons to Victorian London. The roads are slick with a syrupy sludge. The sidewalks look like they’re paved in fudge. And the boulevards are minefields of mulberry mud pies.

Flies tower into the sky like rope tornadoes. The swarm is so thick it creates an overcast. The insects are here for the doodie dumplings, chestnut nuggets, and ripe dingleberries overflowing from the storm drains.

No. Horse drawn buggies have not come back in fashion, nor is there an issue with West Beach’s sewage system. According to the Palm Beach County Solid Waste Authority, the problem is something else entirely.

“We were baffled. We were finding wallet chains and watchbands in the leavings. We knew we were dealing with an apex predator. One that fed on humans. But it wasn’t until the Fish and Wildlife Service put us in touch with a forensic scatologist that we realized we were dealing with werewolves.”

Werewolves have migrated to Palm Beach County for its beachfront property, upscale shopping, and statistically unhealthy population.

According to the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office, “It’s no secret West Beach residents are older and rounder than other Floridians. They’re ideal prey for these cryptozoological carnivores.”

While coroners are responsible for removing these fresh kills from the side of the road, no one wants to shovel the excrement that accompanies them.

The Commissioners think they have a solution

This Thursday Palm Beach County Commissioners voted on a bill that would require werewolves to carry poop bags on the night of a full moon.

A doctor spoke on the dangers of toxoplasmosis from fecal matter in the air and the spread of bacteria from feces in the water supply.

A city planner dismissed a proposal to leave Porta Potties at the edge of every woodland path. “A full grown lycanthrope is simply too large to fit. Poo bags are the most practical solution.”

The Mayor said, “Dog walkers have to pick up after their four-legged friends werewolves should do the same.”

The werewolves in the gallery howled

The first wolf skulked up to the podium, barred her teeth, and pawed at the microphone. “If we sling thirteen gallon bags over our shoulders, while we’re in our canine forms, we’re likely to get trapped and suffocate. You can’t mandate someone to carry a poop bag, knowing that poop bags are killing people.”

The next wolf had their speech written on a parchment of dried flesh. “The problem with humanity today is everyone keeps taking the road of least resistance. Then you blame us when it comes time to run.”

One werewolf honed in on the doctor.  “I really have many question marks about your degrees and whether or not you’re working for one of the vampire houses. Vampires are known to have human familiars, aspiring immortals, who function like interns. I’ve torn out many a familiar’s jugular and you ma’am smell like a familiar.”

One after the other the wolves came out in defense of their desire to defecate where they please.

“Where do you derive the authority to regulate Lycan intestines? I answer to a higher power: the moon.”

“And they want to throw God’s wonderful defecation system out the door. If the good Lord didn’t want us to soil his cemeteries he wouldn’t have given us such perfect anuses.”

The final wolf was dressed like a grandmother in a bonnet and apron. They laid a copy of Little Red Riding Hood on the podium and read a politicized reimagining of the final scene.

“But Grandmother! What small ears you have.”
“The better to ignore the pledge of allegiance with.”
“But Grandmother! What small eyes you have.”
“The better to ignore the constitution with.”
“But Grandmother! What small teeth you have.”
“The better to—”

His speech was cut short when he his tail rose up and he laid a big steaming dump at the podium.

It’s at this point the Palm Beach County Commissioners fled the room.

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Continue reading Angry werewolves erupt at meeting over poop bag ruling

The Esoteric Order of Karens curse Palm Beach County Commissioners

Disclaimer: The term “Karen” in the following is not a slur, as it does not exert power over a marginalized group. In this instance “Karen” is as a parody pejorative, a term for an occult order that doesn’t actually exist. While I recognize the term has been misused to defame any and all outspoken women, my targets are the privileged purveyors of misinformation.

Throughout history the Esoteric Order of Karens have ingrained themselves in every society. In Balkan folklore, the Karjons were said to force bar maids to prepare elaborate pumpkin spice concoctions in the wee hours of the morning. In ancient Croatia, the Caryns rose from their graves to complain about the quality of the floral arrangements on their headstones. In medieval England, the Karwyns are believed to have used essential oils to spread the bubonic plague.

Now members of the Order have installed themselves in suburbs throughout America, transforming drive through windows into portals to hell, turning checkout counters into sacrificial altars, and feeding off the life force of managers.

The Order casts dark auras over their communities. They move in and ask for ID from every person of color they see. They refuse to vaccinate their children, because they treat them with necromancy at home. They vandalize 5G towers, because radio waves disrupt their electromagnetic magic. They make it a point shop on holidays, because solstices make them stronger.

There are very few way to repel members of the Orders. Some use apotropaic markings, others use silver amulets, while others use gluten.

Members of the Esoteric Order can be identified by their hair (short in back, long in front, with blonde highlights). They also have purple eyes, square toes, and blue spit. While Karens are often mistaken for witches modern Pagans want nothing to do with them. Socially progressive Wiccans call members of the Order “broomers” because of their staunch adherence to ancient customs.

The Order declares war on Palm Beach County

Much like psychic vampires, Karens sustain themselves on the dark energy of human misery. So when the Palm Beach County commission proposed mandating face masks to prevent the spread of COVID-19 the Karens sprang into action. Florida is an epicenter of the outbreak and the Order means to keep it that way.

Prior to infiltrating the meeting, the Karens painted their nails in the viscera of their victims. Their aim was to perform inconspicuous blood magic. They pointed at the legislators with weaponized index fingers. Ever so slowly, members of the commission showed signs they we succumbing to hemomancy. The Mayor braced himself on his desk, while the Vice Mayor was visibly woozy.

The first Karen to speak peppered her speech with subliminal incantations, “Double double podium to rubble, may cancer rot this governing bubble. Frenzy of furious maggots, swarm your face your mask replaced.”

Another leaned into words of power like, “Aglon, Tetragram, Plandemic, Vaycheon, Stumlamathon” and “Citizen’s arrest.”

Others were less subtle stating that a six foot gap would never offer the same protection as a ring of salt crystals, that facemasks would do nothing against the horned God of the forest, and that 5G nullified their own psychokinetic frequencies.

As members of the Order dominated the session they shifted further from the subject of masks. They cursed Bill Gates for backing a satellite video startup that could potential catch them in flight. They decried Hillary Clinton for hiding her emails in their cauldrons. They speculated that mask legislation would benefit the reptilian pedophiles with whom the Order is in direct competition.

One Karen levitated over the podium and challenged members of the deep state to reveal themselves. “Pit your powers against my powers. Your will against my will. Your psionic energy against my psionic energy. We shall see who the synchronicity favors more.”

Members of the Order joined hands, swayed with an unnatural wind, and chanted at top of their lungs, “Raise the curve! Raise the curve! Raise the curve!”

The curse is spreading

The Karens went on to share their talking points on Facebook and Twitter. Now both platforms are losing market share as advertisers struggle to comprehend the tenants of this secret sororal society. All we know for sure is the people freaking out about wearing a mask at the grocery store are likely members of the Esoteric Order.

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Continue reading The Esoteric Order of Karens curse Palm Beach County Commissioners

Thousands of Trump rally attendees abducted by aliens

Oklahoma has never been a hotbed of UFO activity, especially when compared to their neighbors in New Mexico. Oklahoma has had fewer flying saucers, cattle mutilations, and crop circles than most of the country. It ranks 29th in states with UFO sightings and most of those were at the Black Mesa State Park way up in panhandle.

According to the Mutual UFO Network, Oklahoma ranks low in the list of places with alien abductees. Few residents report unexplained scars, sleep paralysis, or lost time. When it comes to long term alien abductions Oklahoma has less missing persons per capita than 50% of the country.

And yet 415 miles from Black Mesa, in Tulsa Oklahoma, at least 13,000 people went missing for approximately 3 hours.

Oklahoma’s alien abduction numbers are skyrocketing

On June 20th President Trump held a rally at the Bank of Oklahoma Center, a venue that usually seats 19,199. The administration anticipated millions of supporters in downtown Tulsa, but according to fire marshal only 6,200 were in attendance.

This can only mean one thing: the largest mass abduction in American history.

The empty rows were another haunting reminder of how powerless the Space Force is at stopping alien abductions. Every unworn MAGA hat represented a person who was trapped in space and made to suffer prophetic visions of the earth’s destruction. Every unclaimed KEEP AMERICA GREAT sign represented someone who was being fitted with implants. Every blue seatback represented an anal probe the local government was helpless to prevent.

The Aliens have gotten better at cleaning up after themselves

Oddly enough, there were no missing persons reported in the area. No claims of anyone experiencing missing time and no UFO sightings in the entire state.

It’s clear the extraterrestrials have refined their methods since abducting Betty and Barney Hill in 1961. Based on what happened at the Trump rally, aliens have made huge strides in cloaking technology. They can now hide a ship the size of a football field in broad daylight. The aliens appear to have upgraded their amnesia rays as well. Not one of the missing 13,000 persons have come forward with recollections of their experiences.

Weirder still, not one Tulsa citizen went unaccounted for during the rally. The only logical conclusion is that aliens now possess time travel technology. Physicists theorize that such technology would leave behind tachyon particles, but since these particles are purely theoretical we lack the ability to measure them. Had we the means we’d surely find the Bank of Oklahoma Center carpeted with tachyons from the nosebleeds to the pit.

In the meantime the Trump administration urges Tulsa’s alien abductees to come forward and share their stories.

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Continue reading Thousands of Trump rally attendees abducted by aliens

Bolton alleges Trump asked Emperor Palpatine for help with his reelection

In his new book The Chamber Where it Happened, Former national security adviser John Bolton claims to have firsthand knowledge of a secret meeting between President Trump and Emperor Palpatine aka Darth Sidious the dark lord of the Sith.

Bolton says Trump interrupted a daily briefing to ask if anyone saw a cloaked figure standing in the corner of the room. Central Intelligence Agents looked in that direction when they turned back the president was gone. Trump wandered into East Wing of the White House chasing the vision. The cloaked phantom lead Trump into Presidential Emergency Operations Center (the bunker beneath the White House). Bolton found Trump chiseling at the wall with a sharpie. That’s where the president discovered the Sith Wayfinder left behind by the Nixon administration.

“The president assembled a crew for a secret mission aboard Space Force One.” Bolton recounted the events that lead them off world. “All of a sudden Trump was up on Einstein’s theory of general relativity. He knew about wormholes. He knew where to find one and he knew what was waiting on the other end.”

The book chronicles the shuttle’s journey through a cloud of crimson space dust, into unknown regions of space where it took orbit around the desert planet Exegol.

Here’s the expert regarding the event

The pilot landed the Lunar Module at the edge of an inverted pyramid which levitated off the ground on its own. Trump teetered down the docking ramp only to barrel headlong into a lightning storm. The president’s entourage followed close behind. We were taking readings when the platform beneath our feet lowered into the Sith Citadel.

Throughout the long descent, we beheld hooded effigies with alien features, so colossal they put the Statue of Liberty to shame.

“You stand in the presence of the Sith Eternal.” A voice boomed from the dark recesses of the domed chamber.

The moment the platform stopped we were flanked by the Knights of Ren. Six black clad figures ushered us along with curious cudgels. We walked through a field of bubbling vats. Each was filled with clones of the same mummified ghoul. The clones were sickly slender, made to look ancient, with withered flesh and a gaping holes in their cheeks.

The Knights led us into a colosseum where a great industrial robot arm, with miles of cabling, hung from the ceiling. There hanging from a harness in the robot’s grip was the hooded figure just as Trump had described him.

Up close, we saw that Palpatine’s eyes were milky white. His skin had a pale blue corpse-like hue, and the bones in his fingers were fractured and exposed.

Trump acknowledged Palpetine with the grace he extends to all world leaders. “What’s up with all the beakers?” Trump pointed to the row of vials behind the emperor.

Palpetine regarded his intravenous infusion apparatus. “My power is too immense for this body. I require constant transfusions from force sensitive children.”

“And who are those losers in the vats back there?”

“They were my master, Darth Plagueis the wise. So wise he took his knowledge to the grave. So I brought him back. I had the gene-smiths on Kamino fit him with a chip and I now he’s my puppet.” Palpatine rolled a hand through the air. “Supreme Leader Snoke. Snoke’s clones spend their time in the kyber mines, bathing in dark side energy. Their hatred bleeds the crystals that power my fleet. I’ve forged my new order on the resentment of my master.”

“Tremendous.” Trump cupped his hands together. “It’s that kind of thinking I need on my campaign.”

“Silence.” Palpatine cast lightning from his fingers.

Trump rose off the ground as the Emperor read his mind. It didn’t take long. Trump collapsed into a heap. He resisted as his aides wrenched him back to his feet.

“Hmmm.” The Sith lord ran his severed fingers along his chin. “A fissure in the force. Unseen for a generations.”

“Of course. I was going to say.” Trump was dumbfounded.

“Your political future is cloudy. I do not foresee a popular vote victory. You will need to rely on the dark magics of the Electoral College.”

“I should campaign in the swing states?” Trump scoffed. “I could’ve figured that out.”

“No.” Palpetine tented his fingers. “Biden’s lead is too great. You will need new voters.”

Trumped showed his palms. “You want me to go after the zoomers?”

“You will have to manufacture voters.” Palpetine cast his chin over Trump’s shoulder. “You will need a clone army. One programmed to carry out your orders on November 3rd.”

Trump regarded the field of vats behind him. “Snoke clones?”

Palpetine nodded. “Imbed in your society. Set them up with social security numbers. Register them in rural areas and fit them unique identities.”

Trump honed in on Snoke’s decrepit visage. “Election judges are going to notice a bunch of guys with holes in their cheeks.”

“Snokes are versatile.” Palpetine defended his creations. “You can accessorize them. Give them mohawks, mustaches, and piercings. They’ll blend right in.”

It occurred to the dealmaker-in-chief that the emperor wasn’t going to help him for free. “And what do you want?”

Palpatine cackled. His laughter echoed throughout the citadel. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling. The president’s aides held papers over their heads in a desperate effort to shield themselves.

The industrial arm raised the emperor high above the president.

“When the time comes, I want you and your entire star system to bow before the might of the final order. We will come from your resources. We will come for your children. We will–”

“Deal.”

Trump wouldn’t let the Sith lord finish before agreeing to his terms. I imagine the emperor didn’t stop laughing until long after the lunar module lifted off the ground.

After the excerpt

John Bolton went on to claim the United States Space Force has been smuggling Snoke clones to earth for the last several months. The Department of Homeland Security have been integrating these seven foot Sith lords right under our noses. Bolton alleges the Snoke clones have been exerting their influence upon human affairs just to pass the time.

“Snokes have been bleeding the earth’s core. They’ve poisoned the collective unconscious with dark side energy. I’d say they’re partially responsible for the ominous unease of 2020, but only partially.”

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Continue reading Bolton alleges Trump asked Emperor Palpatine for help with his reelection

Summer Reading Recommendation: Full Throttle By Joe Hill

When Joe Hill started this collection of supernatural fables, over a decade ago, he had no idea how relevant they’d feel now. With stories featuring separatist militias, hyper-capitalists, and end time scenarios Full Throttle is pairs perfectly with the mood of 2020.

The stories include:

Throttle

Ever see Duel, that Stephen Spielberg movie about the mild mannered driver pursued by a sadistic semitruck? Swap the mild mannered driver with a biker gang fuming over a deal gone wrong and you have the ingredients for one grim revenge thriller.

This is a collaboration between Hill and his father, an obscure word wrangler by the name of Stephen King.

Dark Carousel

There are few atmospheres more ominous than a creepy carnival (see Something Wicked this Way Comes, Silent Hill, and Us). Just add teenagers and you have a recipe for death and despair.

This is nightmare scenario about an unrelenting enemy teaches an important lesson about vandalism.

Wolverton

A hyper-capitalist coffeehouse kingpin finds himself on a train besieged by werewolves, one of whom very much admires the man’s killer instincts.

By the Silver Waters of Lake Champlain

When I first heard about the Loch Ness Monster I went to the nearest pond with a pair of binoculars. This story imagines what would happen if some like-minded children found a cryptozoological oddity washed up on their shore.

Faun

Big game hunters set out for trophies that are the stuff of fantasy. A grindhouse Lion Witch and the Wardrobe, in a negative image Narnia, served up with a twist.

Late Returns

A down on his luck trucker gets a gig as a bookmobile driver only to discover there’s something off about his patrons. They’ve never heard of The Hunger Games! Are these readers from another dimension? Just what is happening?

This story feels like a lost episode from the original Twilight Zone. It has all of Rod Serling’s trademark nostalgia and all of Ray Bradbury’s affection for fiction.

All I Care About Is You

As a kid I always felt like an imposter when I enjoyed another family’s luxuries: gaming rooms, pools, or boats. These things were fun at birthday parties, but they weren’t meant for me. Since then I’ve always had lowkey status anxiety.

This story takes place in a future where rich girls wear virtual faces and sky dive in protective bubbles. A future where healing technology enables the poor to play perpetual murder victims. A future where a 16 year old girl meets a coin operated boy and confesses the status anxiety she’s been concealing from her friends.

Thumbprint

A soldier, with a sketchy past and an equally sketchy present, has a secret admirer who deals in thumbprints.

For an obscure writer who has received the occasional death threat, this type of story gets under my skin.

The Devil on the Staircase

Some paths are opened with wealth. Some are opened by status. And others are unlocked by murder. Take the stone staircase in this story that leads from a crime of passion to a Faustian bargain. A deal with the devil story with some not so subtle commentary on racism.

Mums

According to the FBI, domestic terrorism is a greater threat than ones posed by foreign extremists. At least in 2020.

This story is set in a not too distant future where separatists have cut out a part of the country where they teach their own history and  have their own currency. A group of extremists are fixing to go on a mission to the old union and recreate the Oklahoma city bombing. A young mother struggles to flee to the states, with her son, before her husband can enact his plan.

Oh, and there’s a supernatural element.

In the Tall Grass

A brother and sister learn no good dead goes unpunished, when they pull over to the side of the road to help a boy find his way out of the tall grass. Thus begins a brutal hike into the alien geometry subgenre of horror fiction. Like the films Cube or Triangle, but flat and on dry land.

Once again, Joe Hill teams up with his budding storyteller father, for a hardcore horror story. This was adapted into feature for Netflix, which was much gentler than its source material.

You are Released

Where were you when the apocalypse happened? Trapped on an airplane amidst a series of politically polarizing conversations? How would you coup with the mushroom clouds on the horizon? What would you do if there was no place left to land?

Get the audiobook if you can

If you’re looking for exercise while you’re social distancing I recommend you take Full Throttle out for a run.

Each story is read by a different narrator including Ashleigh Cummings and Zachary Quinto who are cast members of the AMC drama NOS4A2, based on Jill Hill’s novel. Connor Jessup who appeared in Locke & Key based on the comic by Joe Hill, and Laysla De Oliveira who appeared in Locke & Key and In the Tall Grass.

There are also readings by author Neil Gaiman and Joe Hill himself.

Conclusion

If you’re looking for something creepy clever and social relevant now is the perfect time to discover Joe Hill. Imagine Tales from the Dark Side meets Black Mirror and you’ll have a good idea what’s going on here.

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Continue reading Summer Reading Recommendation: Full Throttle By Joe Hill

Trump sues Bolton over book alleging he is two children in a baggy suit

The Trump administration is scrambling to suppress former national security advisor John Bolton’s new tell-all book: The Nursery Where it Happened. A memoir Bolton’s publisher promises will be the “most comprehensive and substantive account of the Donald Trump persona.”

The book alleges that the 45th president of the United States is actually two children stacked on top of one another, a maneuver Bolton refers to as a “totem pole trench coat.”

When asked to address the accusation during the latest Rose Garden press conference the president said, “I know you are, but what am I?”

A CNN reporter assessed what was becoming painfully obvious. “You’re two children in a zoot suit with like an extra-long novelty tie.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“I don’t know sir, what are you?”

“I am your president of law and order.” Trump pressed his knuckles to his waist. “I think a federal judge should do something about that butthead Bolton.”

Bolton alleges the original duo who created the Trump persona put a William Shatner mask in the microwave for thirty seconds. They then painted it with self-tanner to make it look more lifelike. When it was dry they topped it off with a Marilyn Monroe wig trimmed and styled to resemble a Ken doll.

Bolton also alleges Trump’s baggy suits serves a utilitarian purpose for the children posing as him. “Trump’s posture is a sign he’s two boys playing at manhood. Look at how he leans forward. That’s to conceal the kneecaps that would otherwise be jutting out from his gut. Still the hands are a dead giveaway. No man that tall has hands that small.”

Bolton also draws his readers attention to the president’s behavior over the last few years. He asks, “Why else would a 74 year old man have difficulty pronouncing basic words off a teleprompter? Why else would a serious politician have nick names for everyone? Why else would he have trouble walking down a simple ramp? And why else would his fly keep unzipping on its own?”

Still, the logistics of two children posing as a senior citizen who’s spent most of his life in the spotlight don’t make much sense.

Bolton has an answer for that. “I have reason to believe a rotating cast of tweens have inhabited the role of Donald J. Trump since he first started made waves in the late 1970s.”

The book is filled with candid photographs from the early stages of Trump’s career. Bolton walked reporters through his evidence.

“The Trump persona was created by two boys from Queens. They wanted to sneak into a Porn Emporium back when Time Square still had them. When that worked they decided to keeping pushing the envelope to see what they could get away with. They went to the Playboy mansion, bankrupted businesses, bought casinos, and signed book deals. When the founders of the Trump persona went to high school they passed it onto two other young men. On and on it went. These kids got married, fathered children, cheated with porn stars, starred in reality TV shows, and ultimately bluffed their way into the presidency.”

Bolton’s rotating cast theory explains why Trump has been so politically inconstant throughout his life. In the 1990s he was a pro-choice Democrat who donated to the Clinton Foundation. Later he joined the Reform party only to leave when they embraced Klansman David Duke, but by 2016, when Trump was running for president, he had forgotten who David Duke even was.

Nevertheless, as national security advisor, Bolton signed an air tight non-disclosure agreement. He very well could be breaching national security by revealing this classified information to the public.

Bolton cast these concerns aside. “I don’t care if I signed my soul away. The American public has the right to know why their president tried to get the Ukraine to dig up dirt on his political rival. Why he didn’t take the COVID-19 pandemic seriously. Why he let a recession happen. Why he has no idea what to do about racial injustice, police reform, or national unrest. Americans deserve answers to all those question and then they ought to know why their president’s crotch keeps sneezing all the time.”

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Continue reading Trump sues Bolton over book alleging he is two children in a baggy suit

Massive Communications outages a clear sign Cloverfield monsters are coming

The following is a NEWS PARODY and not part of the actual Cloverfield ARG.

This Monday there were massive internet service disruptions, starting with reports that T-Mobile’s network was down followed by Sprint, ATT, Verizon, and Comcast. Then the servers for Call of Duty went offline, followed by Fortnite, Twitch, Facebook, and Instagram. Even Google itself was having problems. The blackouts were global.

Users speculated the outages were cause by a denial-of-service attack, a type of cyber warfare where services are flooded with excessive access attempts from computers infected with malware. Users in the U.S. were certain Russian hackers behind the attacks, no doubt begining their efforts to undermine the 2020 presidential election. The hacker collective known as Anonymous pointed the finger at actors in China and North Korea.

There was just one problem with these theories. According to Cloudflare, one of the largest companies proving DDoS mitigation, the traffic impact to online services was normal.

It turns out there were gashes in the Submarine Communications Cables that stretch across the sea bed. According to the Coast Guard, these claw marks resemble ones found at the Chuai Drilling Station after it collapsed off the coast of Connecticut in 2008. And we all know what happened a few days after that. A 275 foot Large-Scale Aggressor emerged from the Atlantic and cut a path of destruction throughout New York City.

The LSA, codenamed Cloverfield, was neutralized when the air force executed the Hammer-Down Protocol leveling Manhattan island. The creature’s remains are on display at the Manhattan Memorial in upstate New York. Marine mammologists, ichthyologists, and paleontologists are still debating what the Cloverfield LSA was. Some speculate that it was quadrupedal. Others theorize that it only walked that way because it was an infant.

The only thing marine biologists agree on is that there are likely more of these creatures nestled into the deep trenches of the ocean. The internet service outages seem to confirm their suspicions.

Preparing for another Cloverfield Attack

Coastal cities all over the world are treating the LSA threat like a hurricane with teeth. The national guard has withdrawn from the demonstrations in Midwest and set up observation posts along the nation’s beaches. The United States Geological Survey is scanning the ocean for seismic activity. And the National Reconnaissance Office has shifted its surveillance satellites from metropolitan areas to the coastline.

Civilians are investing in industrial storm shutters, emergency kits, and prosumer camcorders with long-range zoom lenses and optimal night vision.

This morning a Squadron of helicopters in Rio de Janeiro draped a tarp over Mount Corcovado in an effort to conceal the titanic statue of Jesus Christ. In Lushan County of the Henan Provence of China, workers are painted the colossal Buddha black in the hopes it will blend into the night sky. Las Vegas is demolished the Replica Statue of Liberty just in case another Cloverfield LSA attempts to eat.

The United Arab Emirates has evacuated the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world. New York has mandated any building over 40 floors switch off its lights before sundown. And Los Angeles has setup searchlights in Skid Row to shift potential LSAs away from better parts of the city.

The Cloverfield LSA was host to unique Human Scale Parasites which had latched onto its body like barnacles. One bite from an HSP caused fatal hemorrhaging within 20 minutes. Rome has sealed off its catacombs to prevent HSPs from nesting there. Portland has shuttered its tourist tunnels and San Francisco has blocked its sewers for the same reason.

Meanwhile Miami Florida is taking no precautions.

Are we even certain Cloverfield LSAs live in the ocean?

After the Cloverfield Incident of 2008 there was speculation that the giant monster was meant to be a shock and awe tactic, the first wave of an alien invasion. Others believed the LSA came through a breach caused by a particle accelerator aboard the Cloverfield Space Station (no relation).

The US Intelligence Community has rejected both of these theories, deeming them too far fetched to warrant any real connection to original Cloverfield Incident.

The Secretary of Defense, Mark Esper, went on the record to say, “If you ask me 2020 is the most likely time we’d see a sequel to the initial event.”

“And you base that on the Submarine Communications outages?” I asked.

The defense secretary shrugged. “I base it on everything else that’s happened. A global pandemic. A recession. Cops killing unarmed civilians. Riots. These international outages. Why not add some giant monsters to the mix, right?”

The defense secretary undid his tie, retrieved a flask from his jacket, and wandered across Pennsylvania Ave, oblivious to the White House staffers asking where he was going. He has not been seen since.

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Continue reading Massive Communications outages a clear sign Cloverfield monsters are coming

Trump campaign demands CNN poll dimensions where he’s winning

President Donald Trump’s campaign is demanding CNN retract a poll that showed Trump trailing presumptive Democratic nominee Joe Biden and then broaden their survey to include Americans from parallel dimensions.

The order came as a cease and desist letter riddled with quantum mechanics equations and metaphysical misconceptions. CNN’s legal team is still puzzling over exactly what the Trump campaign is proposing.

“They’re trying to move the goalposts outside the known universe.” said Matt Dornic, a CNN spokesman.

In the letter to the network, the Trump campaign argued the CNN poll skewed monoverse-centric and spat in the face of quantum psychics.

“Our position is simple.” Press Secretary Kayleigh McEnany said. “To quote Kanye West, ‘There are infinite and alternate universes.’ So to measure the president’s position accurately you need to count everyone across the multiverse.”

Matt Dornic scoffed at the press secretary’s reasoning. “We’re not having a quantum election. There’s no need to poll people from universe where Trump has acquired a sports almanac from the future, or the axis powers won World War 2, or Nixon served five terms. Those voters aren’t registered here.” Dornic threw up his hands. “And how the hell would we survey them if we wanted to?”

Kayleigh McEnany counted all the methods on her fingers. “You could use transwarp conduits. Apparition spells. Magic wardrobes. Desert doorways. The speed force. Warp whistles. Magic mirrors. Mage portals. Time tunnels. Primer boxes. Subtle knives. Slider timers. Spore drives. Portal guns. Sling rings. Farcasters. Hyperspace gates. Jump gates. Rift gates. Even Stargates. There are literally a ton of options.”

Matt Dornic rubbed his eyes as he watched footage of McEnany counting. “None of those things are real.”

“Maybe not here,” Kayleigh McEnany paused the footage of Matt Dornic’s response. “But in the Miles Morales multiverse, where there’s a samurai Spiderman, some of that stuff exists. Are you telling me people in Shi’ar Empire don’t deserve to have a voice here?”

Matt Dornic paused Kayleigh McEnany on his phone. He balled his hand into fist and set his flaring nostrils into his knuckles. “The Shi’ar Empire is autocratic. Their Majestrix wasn’t voted into power. Her brother was rendered comatose by the M’Kraan Crystal and she took over. Which is a moot point because D’Ken Neramani never even conquered Earth 616.”

“Neeerd!” Kayleigh McEnany cackled back.

Matt Dornic stomped around the rim of his office. “You’re the one telling us to toss the SSRS poll in favor of the many worlds theory. We don’t need to go looking for Schrodinger’s cat in the ballot box. It doesn’t matter how Donald’s doppelgänger Is doing against Bizarro Biden. Maybe Trump is kicking ass in mirror dimension where goatees and fascism are in fashion, but not in the one I’m standing in.”

“OK, Sheldon.” Kayleigh McEnany put her phone down on the desk. “We stand by our position. Any poll that doesn’t include infinite earths, the Twilight Zone, or Battleworld is phony and misleading.”

McEnany tugged the cord for a projection screen, revealing a network of yarn, pins, and newspaper clippings. “Imagine a reality where Trump didn’t hypothesize using cleaning products to treat COVID-19. Where he didn’t say, ‘We’re dominating the streets with compassion.’ Where he didn’t refuse to rename bases that had been named after confederate leaders. Where he didn’t schedule a campaign rally on Juneteenth at the site of the Tulsa race riot. Where he didn’t have attendees sign a waiver in case they contract the coronavirus. Where he didn’t eliminate non-discrimination health benefits for gay and transgender patients. Imagine how much better Trump might be polling over there.”

According to data aggregated by Nate Silver for FiveThirtyEight, Trump is polling well behind Bernie Sanders in the dimension where the Vermont Senator clinched the democratic nomination. What Silver finds interesting is how far back Trump lags behind Mitt Romney in a reality where Trump remained a Democrat, or how far back Trump lags behind Jesse Ventura in a reality where Trump stayed with the Reform Party, or how far back Trump lags behind Kanye West in a reality where West followed through on his plan to run for president in 2020.

Matt Dornic scrolled through FiveThirtyEight’s data, then turned to this reporter and asked, “How were they able to survey voters in other realities? What did they have? An interdimensional wrist watch? A copy of the Necronomicon? A recovered UFO? What?”

I shrugged. “Something to do with tachyon particles.” I really didn’t know.

Dornic took a deep breath, ran his fingers through the Zen garden on his desk, and exhaled. “CNN stands behind our poll. In this reality or any other.”

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Continue reading Trump campaign demands CNN poll dimensions where he’s winning

Trump stages photo op holding the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis

On June 1, the National Guard fired flash bang grenades, rubber bullets, and tear gas at peaceful protestors outside the White House. Then President Trump walked to the Neolithic rune on the edge of Lafayette Square known as the Shrine of Kandar. The president’s entourage crossed monolithic stones, burial mounds, and biomechanical architecture. Photographers corralled Trump and the first lady beneath the shadow of the crooked skeletal steeple for a photo op.

Wind howled through the macabre masonry. Stacks of sun-bleached femurs creaked like old rocking chairs. The brickwork of skulls spat dust through empty eye sockets.

Ivanka Trump set her $1,540 handbag on an altar made of human clavicles, slid her hand into an armored gauntlet, and exclaimed, “Klaatu Barada Nikto!” She withdrew a volume bound in flesh and penned in blood: the Ore Magnus Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, also known as the book of the dead.

Ivanka handed the tome of forbidden knowledge to her father. Trump held the book so the cameras could see the anguished face on its cover.

Written by the Dark Ones in an age proceeding man, the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis contains bizarre burial rites, funerary incantations, and demon resurrection passages. When spoken, its verses cut a gash through time and space. A seeping wound for Hell to bleed through. The book has been used by tyrants the world over to summon deadites; extra-dimensional soldiers whose sole purpose is to defile humanity.

A reporter dared ask Trump if that was his personal Necronomicon.

Trump said, “It’s a Necronomicon.

Defense Secretary Mark Esper says he didn’t know about the assault on the protesters or the blasphemous outing. “I thought we were going to inspect a bathroom that had been damaged during the demonstrations. I had no clue we’d be trouncing across the courtyard of the damned. Do you think I was happy to hear a chorus of the lost souls cry out, ‘Join us,’ as we rounded the block?”

Former Vice President Joe Biden was vocally outraged. “The president held up that ancient Sumerian text, beside his mortified wife, like some sort of twisted play on American Gothic. I just wish he opened it once in a while instead of brandishing it. If he opened it, he could have learned how infinitesimal he was in the shadow of the Dark Ones, whose long black shrouds blanket everything.”

With their focus on herding protestors, White House officials had no plan for what the president might do once he arrived at the Shrine of Kandar. So Trump posed with the Necronomicon, placing the severed portrait over his own face, giving it bunny ears, and jabbing its eyes. By all accounts Trump disrespect both the text and the site itself.

Hierophant Zezron, head sorcerous of the Knights of Sumeria and keeper of the shrine, had some choice words for the president. “I can’t believe what my eyes have seen. Here’s a man who can’t even read Sumerian, who never listened to Professor Raymond Knowby’s translations, who’s shed no blood into the Kandarian Cauldron, wielding our sacred text like a nuclear button. He used violence to disperse demonstrators and then called for peace while propping up a chaos artifact he had no business touching.”

Hierophant Zezron says she’s already communed with the corpses that line the Shrine and they are equally upset to have their bones used as the backdrop for a photo op.

Mere hours after the event the White House had cut a victory video together. Set to a demonic chorus it showed the president saluting riot police, leaning on the standing stones, and thumping the Necronomicon.

The video abruptly cut before the face on the cover came to life and bit the president’s finger down to the bone.

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Continue reading Trump stages photo op holding the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis