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Tessa from Albuquerque writes: I read a few articles from the past. I seems you and that Stephen guy go back a long ways. How did you meet?
Good question. Actually, I forgot I even knew Stephen until January 6th this year. I’ll explain.
I was right at the front of the line when it was Capital stormin’ time. Sure, I thought stopping the steal was important, but at the same time I was thinking… —————————->
So I was kinda ho-hum about the whole thing. In fact, I just showed up because I heard it was gonna be a windy day and I wanted to see Trumps wig fly-off. Then someone in the crowd said it was feedin’ time for Senators and they had this big all-you-can-eat buffet right in the capital.
So I commenced to marchin’ and a-chantin’ all patriotically hoping to get a free lunch.
Then I saw all those guards protectin’ the food, and I figured a free lunch wasn’t worth the trouble. Then I got bear-repellent-sprayed by another patriot. I did get a a haircut the day before, and I put on clean clothes that morning, so I guess I had it comin’.
I walked a good ways-away from the commotion, and just sat down with my back against a tree. I was starting to feel a little dizzy, with the huge crowd, the yellin’, and me with no lunch and all. I just sat there thinking about nothin’. Then, with the speed of a Presidential tweet, something random popped in my head.
Stephen Johnson won the 2016 election as a write in. Long story short, this and that happened, there was a meeting and yada-yada-yada, the electoral votes went to Donald. But Stephen actually won.
So this means, Donald stole the presidency from Stephen. Then Biden stole the election from Trump. But in reality, Biden stole, the stolen, election from Stephen.
So we have to stop chanting “stop the steal!”, and start chanting “stop the stolen steal!”
I was all up in arms, sittin’ under that tree. I was ready to run back to the crowd and explain that we’ve been duped.
Then I realized that would be supporting Stephen. Many years ago I swore that I would never support Stephen in any shape or form. I saved his life once and that should be enough.
Besides, Stephen would have been a horrible President. He chain smokes a pack of cigarettes every hour, hasn’t been sober since 1982, and never passed the third grade. That makes him ever-so-slightly worse than Trump…as qualifications go.
Don’t get me wrong, I still support Trump. I mean, what’s not too like? He’s always entertaining us with crazy antics, he’s fat, has yellow hair, and wears more makeup than Ronald McDonald…I love this guy!
But this is about Stephen.
Not only did he evade the draft claiming chronic butt itch as a handicap, his father gave up a nice healthy check to get him in a local college. Then in an attempt to get him a scholarship, he photoshopped pictures of Stephen with a rowing team even though he only has one arm. And just like Stephen asking a girl to dance at the senior prom…he was turned down.
I remember like it was yesterday.
You see, Stephen grew up fatherless. His father chose to meet Stephen, but didn’t tell him who he was. Shortly afterwards, his father, revealed, that he, was in fact, Stephen’s father.
They were on the 20th floor of a burning skyscraper. Which was, as usual Stephen’s fault. He was walking down the hall with a cigarette in his mouth, when a burning ash fell off and hit the carpet. Not paying attention, he went on his merry way.
A half hour later that whole floor was a-blaze. In a cowardice frenzy, he pushed old women and children out of his way to get to the stairwell, tripped and was holding onto the winding stair rail with one hand. It was that moment his father announced, “Take my hand Stephen, I am your father. Together we will rule this city as father and son!”
Stephen screamed, “I’m not your son! I’ll never join your evil empire!”
Then his dad chopped off Stephens arm and he proceeded to fall, yelling, “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!”
I looked up to see a screaming long haired moron with one arm, flailing helplessly. Fortunate for him, he never hit the bottom. He was inches above the floor, when he stopped on a dime!
Unfortunately the dime was in my pocket.
He thanked me for breaking his fall, punched me in the stomach, stole my wallet, and ran off.
And that’s how I met Stephen.
And now you know.
Coming Next: What was it about Hippies and coke bottles?