Full Moon over MAGA

The 2024 Election Recap: We're a Wolfocracy Now

Am I going crazy, or can I honestly not remember who was on the Democratic Ticket back in 2024? It was so many moons ago and my memory is getting foggy. To be honest, I haven’t been feeling myself since that strange blonde woman in the Hugo Boss uniform bit me at a Trump Rally. She said her name was Karoline Leavitt, but I think she goes by “Takeit” these days.

After a lunar cycle; I am shakily back on my feet. Must be allergies; I can’t stop sneezing. “Sneeze into your elbow,” my friend admonishes. Feeling the next tickle in my sinus, I begrudgingly raise the crook of my elbow to my nostrils.

Achoo! The force of the expulsion rockets my arm upward into a perfect Nazi knife-hand salute. A toothbrush mustache has erupted from my nostrils, a violent case of goose-stepping enflames me in fasciitis. I stand before a crowd of lupine wingnuts, bathed in the unholy light of our tidally locked satellite. They howl in unison,”Gesooooooondheit!”

Racist Lycanthropy. That explains my current state and the state of our failing republic.

The memories of 2024 come flooding back.

There was a debate: two old men entered the coliseum, only one exited. I remember the weeping widow of the defeated candidate holding the headless corpse of her husband like Mary in La Pieta and whispering, “You answered every question... You can rest now.”

The jubilant pillager of America, led by the King of All Nazi’s: Turbo Hitler 2000, stood in front of the TV camera. You may know him as his human alias “Trump”, but don’t be fooled. You may also remember this speech, blood dribbling from his jowls:

“There is no one in this country who can stand against me! Your mothers warned you about my coming! Fear the moment... In your nightmares, you all serve me Diet Cokes — and it brings joy to your hearts! Is there no one else? Are you not entertained?”

All hope seemed lost for the Resistance™, when all of a sudden, from out of Jamaica or India, or wherever was convenient, a new candidate burst forth. Some said she erupted like Minerva out of Jupiter’s head. Others said she was born from the ether of a DNC focus group, a coconut tree, and a policy binder. In any event, she was anointed by Biden’s last gurgle: Kamile Harvey? Kara Harakiri? Kamalama Dingdong. That was her name! Kamala, for short. It was the final wish of the last sovereign to bequeath his administration unto her, for she was to be the rock upon which we build the Sacred House of Democracy.

Kamala enacted a campaign so smart. She would’ve taxed investments before they were cashed out. US Companies would be paying pennies on the dollar for Guatemalan slaves. She would ban fracking, ban fricking, and legalize fucking. Poison groceries would be free, and so would the medicine that would help us deal with the ailments from the poison groceries. Our ARs would be beaten into plowshares, then patent-trolled by John Deere. Best of all: African American Reparations. BLM Rioters would write checks for $35 each to the cities they destroyed in 2020.

But she couldn’t have anticipated the sheer brazen cunning of the enemy. Mecha-Wulf-Hitler, smelling a momentum shift with his enhanced olfactory glands, planted a false flag. If you thought the new Confederate - Gadsden - Swastika Flag was bad, you hadn’t seen nothing yet.

The Furry Führer duped a hitman: Matthew “Notta” Crook - just an average Gen-Z kid. No social media presence, fingerprints, or address to speak of. His parents were humble psychotherapy behavior modification experts - ho hum. Like any typical seventeen year-old boy, he knew his way around drones, firearms, and sloped roofs. But the target? The target would be the Führer himself.

Crooks struggled against his captors, but the team of Russian Republicans overwhelmed him with a mind control cocktail of the Cyber-Wulf’s own design. It was called MK-Ultra-Kool-Aid. They want you to think that this was started in the 50’s by the CIA, but this is all part of a mega history distortion field that peaks during the full moon. The Republican candidate went to Pennsylvania, got on stage, called everyone a pussy, then Crooks fired the fateful shot.

What they didn’t tell you is this: rebels from the DNC equipped the doomed Crooks with a silver bullet. It almost worked. He fired at the appointed time, but instead of going as rehearsed – Trump catching the bullet in his teeth, spitting it out, and saying, “Somebody stop me!” – the insatiable wolf-lord got distracted by a sweaty pair of tits in the crowd and turned his head ever so slightly. The shot blew his ear off. Frightened and injured, he scampered westward, to the corny plains of Ohio where he recovered his strength by eating dogs, cats, and Haitian families.

There he bound his essence in an unholy alliance with a gullible young Senator named Juris Doctor Vamps, a literal bloodsucking lawyer. The duo enslaved podcast comedians to do their bidding, and that was the last domino. No amount of joy or vibes could save Kamala’s doomed, heroic sacrificial candidacy. The winter of authoritarianism froze our coconuts.

Rabid young men like me are locked incels under the capital, being kept hungry to feast on the flesh of the undocumented. How could we have known? Who can stand before Emperor Cyber-Wulf Turbo Hitler 2000? What can wolfkin do when the alpha is off his leash? Throw us a bone here! Awooo.

The credits roll, but there’s an Easter Egg. To find out what really happened to Kamala in this hot NSFW exposé, you’ll need to become a paid subscriber! $10 for a year - this offer expires March 30th.