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I have to tell you, I was very disappointed when you didn’t show up for my performance at the 2017 Mensa Worldwide Olympics competition at the beautiful Salton Sea Hyatt hard by the majestic peaks of the Chocolate Mountain Naval Aerial Gunnery Range.
As usual, I brought home a gold medal in the Mensa Pentathalon, taking first in my signature events, the modem toss and the stacked-server high jump, and racking up a new personal best, second place in the Oxford English Dictionary clean and jerk.
But what’s more disappointing, I returned from my several weeks of training and competing against the world’s most accomplished Mensa athletes to find that the Russians have apparently infected the entire leftist population of this great country with a virulent mental disorder—Moscow Madness.
I caught up on the fake television and print news I had missed. I was shocked to hear that the Demagogue Party and the MSM (Mostly Silly Media) believe they have proof that former Senator Beauregard Sessions, now Big D’s Attorney General, despite his long record of public service as the US Attorney for the Southern District of Alabama, Attorney General for Alabama, and twenty years as Alabama’s US Senator, was a Russian spy in the service of Rootin’ Tootin’ Putin for all those years.
I had no choice but to commandeer my two most trusted medical authorities, my long-time psychiatrist, fellow Mensa, and Nobel Prize winner Dr. Sarah Bellum; and my family practitioner, Dr. D.T. Munchausen. We began our own intensive research into the hysteria, and discovered that most of the evidence against Beauregard had been gathered from Obama moles burrowed deep in the Administrative State and the intelligence community, and fed to the MSM.
We also learned that the left’s lead investigator into the Russian takeover of the Trump administration was former MA Congressman Barney Fife Fwank and a legion of handsome young men, former models for Abercrombie and Fitch, working from Fwank’s Capitol Hill apartment/bordello.
Drs. Bellum and Munchausen and I showed up at Fwank’s plush DC apartment. While seated on a red velvet sofa, we grilled the former Congressman.
“What evidence do you have that Beauregard was working for Putin?” Dr. Bellum asked bluntly.
“It’s widiculous how much evidence we have. We have pwoof that he shook hands with Wussian ambassador and chief spy wecwuiter, Sergey Kislyak, on at least two occasions.”
“But that was long after the campaign was over,” Dr. Munchausen interjected.
“Exactwy,” Fwank said. “And we have a video of Beauwegard dwiving his car wight past the Wussian embassy on Embassy Wow while Kislyak was inside the building. All this was in bwoad daywight. You can see the video on CNN (Cynical Nattering Nabobs) with sinister music pwaying in the backgwound.”
“What else do you have?” I asked.
“The whole Twump administwation is contwolled by Wussia. Twump’s own daughter is named Ivanka. That’s a Wussian name if I ever heard one. And get this, she dwinks onwy Stowichinaya vodka. And Twump’s favowite movie: WEDS, that Warren Beatty biopic about John Weed, the Amewican who fought in the Wussian Wevolution.”
“But what about Hillary approving the deal as Secretary of State,” I said, “where a Wussian, I mean Russian, company owned by one of Putin’s kleptocrat oligarchs ended up controlling 25% of the uranium ore deposits in the U.S. in exchange for a $100 million gift to the Clinton Foundation by the company’s former Canadian owner.”
“That’s not important,” Fwank said. “And she got onwy $90 million. She bwavewy did the Wussian Weset, and was weally mean to them.”
Fwank’s bordello door flew open. MN Senator Al Franken Stein and NY Senator Chuck “Corn Rows” Schumer rushed in and grabbed Fwank.
“We’ve found the smoking gun,” Senator Franken Stein screamed.
“Big D owns a Russian sable hat, one of those big round ones like Leonid Brezhnev used to wear,” Corn Rows said breathlessly, his hair implants beginning to smolder atop his massive forehead. “You need to get it for us.”
“No way I’m bweaking into the White House,” Fwank said. “Wemember Watergate?”
“Get real,” Senator Franken Stein said, “even if you’re caught, our media lackeys will say it’s no big deal, like they did when they covered up my theft of Norm Coleman’s senate seat when I came up with 1,099 ballots by convicted felons, all of whom just happened to vote for me.”
Barney Fife Fwank stood from the red velvet sofa, puffed out his chest, and loaded his one bullet in his pistol.
“You’re wight,” he said. “I’ll bweak in tonight.”
“And while you’re at it,” Corn Rows said, tamping out the small brush fire on his scalp, “see if you can steal that photo of me in New York City laughing it up and having a Krispy Kreme doughnut with Putin.”
Franken Stein, Corn Rows, and Fwank rushed out of the bordello, leaving Drs. Bellum and Munchausen and me on the velvet couch.
“I’m afraid it’s hopeless,” Dr. Bellum said. “Medical science has no cure for this type of insanity.”
“Agreed,” Dr. Munchausen said. “And I fear that as a result of this onslaught of fake news and hysteria, the leftists have fulfilled Putin’s greatest dream: they have made Russia great again.”
With much sadness, I realized what my medical team said was true. I harkened back to my weeks at the Mensa Olympics and the purity of competition. I missed the aroma of deformed, dead fish on the banks of the Salton Sea, and my serpentine runs dodging shrapnel among the dunes of the Chocolate Mountain Gunnery Range.
I dropped the docs off at their offices and drove home, reminding myself to get rid of the Russian sable hats that Big D and Beauregard gave me for Christmas.Published in