Mad Kasix: Cruzy Road
Kasix stood over the cliff overlooking the large expanse of sand and wasteland surrounding the entire land. This land used to be the great state of Utah, but after the primaries… It looked exactly the same. But that was beside the point, because Utah reminded Kasix of nothing but the brutality and disgusting destruction of the past twelve months of this Presidential Election…
“Where are we going, Jeb!?” Ben Carson asked. He stared intently at the passing blur of green that streamed by outside the car window. “Do we have another debate today?”
“Yeah, buddy. A big ol’ debate. Everyone will be there to see you, champ.” Jeb! pat Ben on the head and gave his coarse salt and pepper hair a scratch.
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Ph = 37 VISG = 0
The unconscious Jeb! was sprawled across his couch, his slacks and dress shirt disheveled and stained with orange tinted smears and brown splotches. The floor, coffee table, and every inch of the couch not occupied by his bloated body were covered in sticky beer and soda cans and food wrappers, all licked free of crumbs. Jeb’s phone, rattled the half empty Mtn Dew that was placed on top of it, jolting Jeb! awake and sending detritus streaming off the couch and crashing to the floor like a waterfall of aluminum. Jeb! blindly swatted at the tabletop until he grabbed his phone and hit talk.
“Whuuuuh…. what the hell do you want? Who is this?” Jeb! mumbled into the receiver.
The humble auditorium of Ford’s Theater was empty, save for the company on stage performing a rendition of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar and a solitary box occupied by a sullen woman in her late 60s. There were only three seats in the box, one of them draped in an American flag and cordoned off with velvet ropes. Hillary Clinton sat on the far end of the row, surveying the performers below. Each senator plunged a sword into the side of Caesar, whose toga was stained with bright red stage blood. A young man, lean and handsome, with slicked black hair and a freshly pressed suit, walked in and stood nervously behind her, afraid to make a sound. Hillary turned to face him.
“Ah, Julian! Good to see you! Please, sit down.” Hillary beckoned to the young man. Julian hesitated for a moment before joining her next to the off-limits seat.
“You wanted to speak to me, ma’am?” Julian asked. Read more
Ben Carson felt terrible.
It was a special kind of terrible, though. The kind where his head throbbed, every vein in his body pulsed out, and the only release he could get was that he was going numb from the blood loss.
He had been in many surgeries over the years, but it was obviously never with him on the receiving end. He now knew how it must feel to go through one of his famous brain splices without any anesthetic. He no longer wished to be called Science Man, after all this. He realized that Ben was good enough for him.
Dispelling the Fiction
Marco sat down in his chair, sweat pouring down from his forehead.
He had lost.
But it wasn’t his game to lose, so he just really didn’t understand. How could he not win? He was supposed to. Everyone said he was going to. But then he… didn’t.
The Prince of Light
The sunrise shone brightly like an omelette, steam rising from the skillet as the cheese melted into its surface. No, wait. More like a sponge cake rising in the oven. Yeah, that sounded better.
Martin O’Malley and the Vision Quest of a Thousand Bernie Sanders Supporters
“I have to win…”
“I have to win…”
Martin clutched the sheets hanging over his bed and pulled himself off of the floor and onto his bed. Now the sheets were spread all over the floor, but he was on his bed. Martin’s eye twitched and he rolled over on top of a pillow. He reached his unclutched arm up into the air and mimicked grabbing a lightbulb from the fan and taking it over to his face.
In the Grand Sanctum, the beating heart of the proud Kingdom of Libertaria, jewel of the mortal realm and last bastion of the Ones Before, the King Roenald of the Clan Paul did bequeath upon his son. “Lo, Prince Raendus, son of Roenald, son of Coaspar, sole heir to this holy kingdom beneath the light of the Gods’ eyes. You, young one whose untamed mane cries in defiance of heaven’s strongest winds, have been summoned to this Sanctum to complete a task. I and my subjects have long known this day, this most auspicious of days, would come, but we knew not that it would come so soon,” said the elder Paul, muscles limp and bones scarred from decades of battle and time’s weathering. “I have grown weak in my old age, Raendus, my son of sons, and I can no longer carry the weight of our people upon my shoulders. Yes, my son, it is your time. ‘tis the dawn of a new age. Tonight, as the three suns set behind the Spine of Aeyn, the throne shall be yours.” Read more