I didn’t write anything new this weekend, but what I’m giving you here is a dive into the behind the scenes. The seedy underbelly of HCAD, populated by all of the stories too shocking, too vile, and (more often than not) too shitty to see the light of day… until now. This was a story that I started writing back during the dark ages of the 2016 election, back when the Republican field still numbered in the double digits. I don’t even remember exactly what I was ultimately going for, but it was something about Ron Paul/Rand Paul fans arguing in the style of movie or video game fans on a forum and, likewise, was formatted like a forum post. I think it was a decent idea, but I ultimately scrapped it for something else equally terrible (Barty Randerson, maybe? I don’t remember the timeline very well.) Well, either way, enjoy, I guess.
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
And we at Home Clipart Animal Deer welcome you as well.
As you may know from the news (or yesterday’s Eve of Iowa story), the Iowa Caucuses are today, and therefore Election ‘016: The Series is finally ramping back up after 51 stories of nonsense and mayhem. We posted our Monday story yesterday (again, Eve of Iowa, read now) so we won’t have anything today, but you’d better get excited for all the stuff we’re going to post for this story series in the near future, AKA probably from now until March 15th. Unless the GOP race turns into a heated contest and ends up with a contested convention in July in which case we’re going to have the ultimate Presidential Election parody series of all time.
Even though a week or two ago I did say that it was possible and didn’t happen, Kuttsukiboshi x Madoka Magica WILL be updating again, finally. So we’re actually going to have some good Saturday posts other than terrible one-off pictures.
Also, we may have a story-related surprise later this week! If it happens it will be very exciting so make sure to set your calendars and constantly F5 this page in hopes that you will get the event the moment it happens (Or just Subscribe!).
Mitt Romney’s Dream at 2:30 AM on January 27th, 2016
Foreword: All Primary maps were generated using a cool tool from RealClearPolitics. Check it out here. You may have to open the maps in a different tab to view them in full-size.
January 27th, 2016
Mitt Romney laid over in his bed and his face hitt Ann’s back. It woke him up, his eyes jolting open. His vision was blurry and his mind was spinning from whatever he was dreaming about.
He then felt the warmth of his blanket and of Ann’s back. He put his arm around her, put his head back against his pillow, and closed his eyes.
It was a very long, cold night, and Mitt’s mind cleared into an icy Iowan landscape, one that he was so familiar of, for all those years before…
January 29th, 2016
Sean Hannity turned to Mitt in that same-as-always spin and smiled. “So here on the show today we have a very special guest coming to talk to us. It’s former Massachusetts Governor and Presidential Nominee Mitt Romney. Mitt, how are you today?”
“I can’t believe that I have to stand out in the cold with all these smelly hicks.” Veronica shivered beneath a dozen layers of winter clothing. There were four inches of snow and counting blanketing the ground and piling up on the roof of the ramshackle 3 room cabin behind her. “Jesus, the things I have to do for this job. Hey Kevin, you got a smoke?”
Kevin looked down at his watch. “No time, Veronica. We’re on in 5…” Kevin hoisted the monolithic TV camera onto his shoulder and adjusted the lens. “… 4… 3… 2…” Read more
INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN – DAY
A man, average build, in a plaid jacket and balaclava sits on a foldout chair in middle of the room. Several locks of curly brown hair peek out from the headwear, accompanied by a bushy black mustache of questionable authenticity. He is BARTY RANDERSON. A boom box sits on the table next to him. He stares blankly at the camera for a moment before pressing the play button on the boom box. The Gremlins Theme plays.
Hiiiiiiiiii. My name is Barty Randerson, friendly protector of
conservative constitutional values in that little ol’ neighborhood
you’ve got there.