When patriot Mike rescues feminist Ricki from a post-Trump rally riot, the clash of opposites sets off sparks between them. But the gentleman giant refuses to leave the side of the spunky half-pint until he and his pickup truck deliver her home, safe and sound. Ricki attends the rally to scoop the racism of the Trump crowd in a blog post. But she's forced to spin a false narrative when her mistaken assumptions fail to materialize. When Ricki's lies get Mike doxed, and his construction worksite becomes the target of antifascist thugs, his righteous anger forces her to reckon with the truth. Ricki wants to fix the damage and regain Mike's trust. But that means facing the wrath of the liberal mobs. Will Ricki find the courage to leave the left for a lifetime of old-fashioned true love? Hear Part 2 in your podcast app right now by signing up at http://patreon.com/miniondeathcult in your phone or computer browser. Get access to hundreds of bonus episodes for only $5/month and new episodes during the holiday season. Music: Daughn Gibson - Pisgee Nest
And conservative humor gone awry is going to fascist-fornia today.
So stay tuned.
We're going to take a few pictures of the desert and how their policies are actually messing it up.
It's not beautiful when you go across that border.
But stay tuned, guys.
Okay, I'm Alexander Edward.
And I'm Tony Boswell.
And we are Minion Death Cult.
The world is ending.
The love of a radical feminist spunky half-pint girl pixie is responsible.
We're documenting it.
Hell yeah.
Hell yeah.
What's up everybody?
It's your Patreon episode for the week and possibly a sneak preview of the Patreon episode for the week.
If you have yet to subscribe to our Patreon, but we're going to give you folks a little taste in the hopes that we can reel you back in for more here.
Because today, God, I'm so excited about this episode.
I'm pretty pumped.
Sometimes things just fall into your lap.
You see stuff and you're like, oh, that looks cool.
And then it turns out that it's actually amazing.
I want to shout out, I think it was Brendan in the Facebook group.
It was Brendan who first shared what we're about to discuss, what we're about to read aloud for you listeners and for Tony.
Tony has not heard this yet.
Tony has not read it yet.
Yeah, it's new to me.
It's new to me, but I'm excited about it.
Yeah, Brendan shared this into the Facebook group before I saw it go viral on Twitter, but it went viral for a reason, folks.
Today, I am going to be reading Ladies First, A MAGA Hat Romance to Tony Boswell for the pleasure of our listening audience.
I am so excited.
So I mean like, you know, I'm a sucker for a romance novel.
I'm a sucker for some MAGA hat stuff.
And you also know I'm a sucker for wine.
For good wine.
So I went ahead and popped into the cellar and got a bottle just for this episode.
Oh my god.
I went ahead and found a nice vintage.
I believe it's a non-date.
It's such a good vintage.
I got some...
Some Kirkland Rose Prosecco.
I will probably drink most of the bottle throughout this episode.
I'm really excited.
I'm going to go in and pop this.
I'm excited for some romance.
I'm going to read the description.
Faint spoilers ahead, but this episode, I believe, will be part one of the reading of the MAGA hat romance called Ladies First by Liberty Adams, by the way.
What a good pen name.
I mean, we're assuming it's a pen name.
Who knows?
That's true.
That is true.
That was kind of presumptuous of me.
The description reads, Mm-hmm.
When Ricky's lies get Mike doxed and his construction work site becomes the target of anti-fascist thugs, his righteous anger forces her to reckon with the truth, period.
Ricky wants to fix the damage and regain Mike's trust, but that means facing the wrath of the liberal mobs.
Uh-oh.
Will Ricky find the courage to leave the left for a lifetime of old-fashioned true love?
Leave the left for a lifetime of old-fashioned true love.
Oh, the alliteration's already popping.
This is going to be...
As a fan of prose, I am fucking ecstatic.
I noticed she didn't include, like, libidinal or lusty, so...
Yet.
Ladies First by Liberty Adams.
MAGA Hat Romance Book 1. Dedication.
This series is dedicated to MAGA patriots everywhere.
Chapter 1. A red blur greeted Ricky from inside the rapid transit trolley car as it whizzed past and came to a stop.
Ricky's spelled C-K-I. Sorry, everybody.
This still has like a Shel Silverstein-like cadence to it.
She adjusted the waistband of her low-slung jeans and took her place at the front of the throng waiting on the platform.
Inside the car, not many were preparing to exit.
She hated it when large events crowded the ridership on her line.
This one, a Trump victory rally coming just weeks after President Trump's inauguration, explained all the red, making her hate it even more.
And I'll stop to say here that I believe this book was written in 2020.
This is presupposing the re-election of Donald Trump.
Oh, this is a re-election.
Okay, because what I was thinking was that they were smart, that they started the series, and in 2016, that way they know they for sure have four years to rock.
Four years of plot.
Yeah.
That would be good.
That would be smart.
I think there are references to President Trump's successes.
Oh, okay.
I think there's like examples of him being a great president referenced in here, but I could be wrong.
She braced herself for the inevitable pushing and shoving, even though the thought of getting anywhere near one red clad rally goer, let alone be surrounded by them.
What?
I don't know.
Oh, that's what she's bracing herself.
Yeah, to be around Red.
Maybe she's like a bull.
You think she's like a bull?
She doesn't finish her thought.
Even though the thought of getting anywhere near one red-clad rally-goer, let alone be surrounded by them...
What does that thought do?
Don't know.
The door's open.
She leaped forward.
I was like, why are you confused?
It's because it ended right there.
I was like, I get that.
It ends with an em dash.
It's like that's supposed to go somewhere.
There's supposed to be another part to the em dash.
Because I feel like Liberty Adams is like, that shit gets me hot.
But I feel like Ricky is like, I'm scared I need my safe place.
Yeah, she can't even...
Is what Liberty would say.
She's so triggered she can't even finish the thought, I think.
That makes sense.
The doors opened.
She leaped forward, determined to make this car.
her destination was the same rally as many of the passengers she loathed she had to get on now before she lost her nerve and changed her mind about attending writers spilled out thwarting ricky's progress yeah that's what happens at a stop uh This fool already said throng and thwart.
Like...
Room in the car was disappearing, and then an opening.
From experience riding the line, Ricky knew just how to time her next move.
She hunched down small, ready to shoot the gap, but a Hulk at her left elbow stepped into it.
No!
She grabbed the Hulk's arm and tried to squeeze past.
The Hulk stopped, then smiled when he saw her.
Immediately, he stepped out of the way, blocking a wall of bodies.
He ushered her forward with a gallant gesture.
Ladies first, he said.
Ah, a redneck, the kind that drew her automatic disdain.
Ricky scowled.
For good measure, she used the toe of one of his steel-capped work boots as a stepping stone and sat her elbow in the vicinity of the Hulk's ribcage.
Men like this only existed in the world of her father and brother, who were holdouts to a version of masculinity that was rapidly disappearing.
According to fourth wave feminism, most of the rest should have been reduced to blithering apologetics by now.
Fourth wave, that's the thing, you know, is basically like male genocide, which I think is cool.
I think that's cool.
But also, wait, so this dude, for probably all the wrong reasons, like pardoned her in there and said, go ahead, ladies first.
And so she elbowed him in the ribs?
Yeah, because that sort of gallantry, she does not truck with that sort of redneck politeness.
Like, five seconds ago, she was really just focused on getting that spot.
Now she got the spot.
So she could get...
Oh, yeah, I mean, you know what?
Actually, this all adds up.
Never mind.
I forgot who we're talking about.
We're talking about...
We're talking about a fourth-wave feminist who wants to murder all the men.
So this makes sense.
Fourth wave feminism is that cartoon of all the femdoms in bikinis squashing dudes' dicks and balls on the guillotine steps in front of a salt mine that they're all working.
But the one thing that all waves of feminism have in common is that it's all about hating your dad.
It's all about hating your dad and your brother.
That's very true.
And it doesn't matter why.
You could hate your dad and brother because they're too polite and courteous to women.
And seeing a man block a wall of bodies, holding back a massive people like a giant, allowing you to step forward, just reminds you of how gallant your own father was.
Disgusting.
Well, it just reminds you of what they could be doing with that body mass, you know?
Like, you could be actually, like, maybe you could be smashing the patriarchy with your fist instead of just blocking some men from my seat.
Yeah.
Still, it was handy to have her way cleared.
She stepped inside and searched for a strap or grab room on the overhead bar, but the Hulk hadn't finished.
I insist...
A simple empty seat remained.
He continued to block the swell of commuters while he pointed at the seat, smiling at her to take it.
Behind them, she felt many sets of eyes, all trained on that seat.
What was he trying to do?
this type she could dispatch with ease you're holding up the show she said she grabbed hand space on the bar and glared at him oh you do talk he was still smiling she looked away not knowing how to respond yeah no one stumped her in that second harold slithered between them and parked his butt on the empty seat harold was a regular on the line like ricky
normally she did her best to ignore him but today she gave him a fist bump atta boy harold she said the rest of the car laughed as the train moved loser came a voice it wasn't clear who the shouter was targeting Harold sat with his knees closed, the very image of detoxed masculinity.
So, like, only pussies sit with their knees closed.
Yeah, because, I mean, normally you would leave space for the balls.
Man-spreading is good.
So it's not man-spreading, it's just room for your balls.
This is literally just inspired by that image of Trump sitting next to Trudeau, where Trudeau has, like, his knees together and Trump has, like, one leg over the arm of each arm of the chair.
Yeah.
But it's also detoxed masculinity.
He's been clipped of his balls, and that's how a good man should sit.
I love that.
He wore a black watch cap.
A scrawny beard feathered his jaw.
Ricky thought he was simply repulsive.
He'd struck up a conversation with her once, quietly suggesting they meet for coffee sometime, a topic she'd firmly quashed.
She'd spent her entire graduate program perfecting the art of rejecting men.
In this, her final semester, she could, and sometimes did, give lessons in it.
Alright.
She's like the anti-mystery.
Yeah, exactly.
She's the reverse pickup.
She's not the pickup artist, she's the put-down artist.
I love that it's like, she's like, here's the perfect man, somebody I'm repulsed by.
That's their idea of feminism, is a woman who is not attracted to the man that they want to...
Because if you're looking at this from the outside, you have to be like, oh, well, they're making men more feminine and weak.
And unsupportive.
And that's repulsive to me, but it's all a plot to, like, get the upper hand on men, right?
And to lower their status.
And so your character, your feminist character, has to, like, be approving of this man's diminished stature and also repulsed by him.
Yeah, exactly.
Well, because the thing is, even they respect an alpha.
They might not like it, but they're still attracted to it.
Exactly.
You know?
Because, I mean, I don't think you're supposed to like your husband or your wife.
I think you're kind of supposed to dislike them, but you just respect them.
Yeah, you're supposed to grudgingly respect them and challenge them from time to time and then get shut up when they say, oh, you do talk.
And you're like, fuck.
Yeah.
Oh, they've been training too.
Got me again.
Next time.
Yeah.
She hadn't sat through a single miserable date in ages.
In fact, she hadn't had a good date either.
But that wasn't the point.
As a feminist about to graduate with a master's degree in gender studies, dating was a mark of shame.
Yep.
Uh-huh.
Gender studies means you don't actually talk about gender at all.
Yeah, well, you study all the genders from afar, and you never want to interact with them.
Another thing that, like, weird college kids, quote, weird college kids with different colored hair and different pronouns and shit.
One thing those people hate is sex.
Like, doing stuff to each other.
They never talk about it.
Yeah, no, I've never had, like, incredible sex with somebody who has a cartoon avatar.
That's never happened.
Dating was a mark of shame.
How are you supposed to get more feminists if you can't date and reproduce?
Don't you know that dating is actually the number one way to hate men?
That's actually the best way to hate men.
That's why they're after other people's children.
That's why they're after your children.
Because they're too embarrassed to make their own.
Yeah, since they can't ruin their own men, they gotta ruin yours.
Across the narrow center aisle, is that a metaphor?
Crowded with bodies, the Hulk rumbled his disapproval.
Huh, huh.
I don't know what that means.
Huh, uh.
I don't know how I'm supposed to say that.
How is it spelled?
It's H-U-H dash U-H. So, huh, uh.
Yeah, sure.
Huh, uh, he said.
You defile the memory of my grandfather.
This motherfucker's a defile out of nowhere.
This, like, hulking, like, ignoramus, like, Neanderthal was all, like, defile.
You, you have, uh, my forefathers look poorly on you.
Sorry, you defile my grandfather is what he said?
How can you, how can someone else defile your grandfather's memory?
Like, I don't remember your grandfather.
I got nothing to do with the memory of your grandfather, buddy.
Remember that artist Dash Snow?
He was this annoying guy.
He used to jerk off on pictures.
And that was his art.
Some of those pictures were of grandpa's.
So that's how you do that.
My grandpa would have loved for me to offer him a seat and say ladies first to him.
You want to sit here?
No, thank you.
What about my grandpa?
Sorry, huh?
Damn, this guy's really good.
This guy's great at pickup artistry.
She was about to cut him down to size, verbally, along with his grandfather.
Fucking dunk on this dude's grandpa so bad.
You shouldn't have brought up your grandpa.
I'm going to clown on your grandpa so hard right now.
You're going to read his grandpa?
That's fucked up.
That's fucked up.
You can't do that.
Yeah, dude, she's gonna do a fucking spook show on his grandpa and be like, he's here right now with us.
He's jacking off.
Your grandpa is so dead.
How dead is he?
She was about to cut him down to size verbally along with his grandfather, but the purpose for her rally attending mission made her clamp her mouth shut.
She might need this guy later.
He'd already furnished her with some juicy man hate.
Fodder for the blog post she planned to write for her blog, Petra's Parlance.
Parlance?
I don't know.
Maybe.
Unlike some of the other passengers, his wardrobe gave no indication of his destination.
She didn't know where he was headed.
He wore a white button-down shirt, the kind with the embroidered pony, like her father wore.
A polo?
A polo shirt.
A polo shirt?
Okay.
But she's like an idiot.
She's an idiot feminist.
She doesn't know what a fucking working man's polo shirt is.
So she was just trying to dress like her dad because that was a costume?
He's wearing that.
Oh, he's wearing that.
Okay, yeah, yeah.
She's saying she can't tell whether or not he's going to the rally because he's dressed like a normal rugged man with a button-up polo shirt.
The shirt was tucked into a pair of work pants with no belt.
His heavy work boots were hulking and oversized like the rest of them.
A dusty imprint remained on the toe where she had stepped.
She kept her attention on him, mostly because of the way she was facing.
His reach up to the overhead bar was easy, relaxed.
His head nearly touched it, and his elbow was bent at a comfortable angle.
She stood a head shorter.
She had to stretch all the way up to reach.
He was trim and fit, despite his size, with working man's hands, large and rough, and his face was handsome in a rugged rather than pretty way.
She glanced at Harold and then immediately saw the difference.
Man versus boy.
Like, I love how this gender studies ultra-rad femme liberal is like, oh, you're a boy.
If you're under six feet tall, you're a boy.
Yeah, exactly.
Oh, your facial hair doesn't come in all the way?
Okay, child.
Okay, boy.
Yeah.
Even she had to recognize that this guy wasn't that loser.
Yeah.
I think the traditional femininity is being stirred in her.
Something inside is rising like a flame.
The man wore his hair in a Kennedy-esque frat boycott.
Oh, my God.
A feature she loathed, even though it was the same style as her dad.
Yeah.
Did he also hunt?
She swept away the thought.
Her father's passion, if known by the sisterhood, might have her application for membership revoked.
ricky couldn't bear to risk rejection from the university's most prestigious feminist activist group her last task remaining before her entry into full membership was to attend this rally and write a blog post about it then after friday's membership tea would come her long promised reward to herself a tattoo she'd wanted since she was a kid yeah the festive mood on the train lifted her earlier dour spirits if nothing else
these red clad cultists had enthusiasm on their side for a fraction of a second she even looked forward to the rally then she remembered who she You know how when you're just, like, surrounded by Trump supporters and you get, like, sucked into the good vibes?
You get all excited?
Yeah, yeah, totally!
Just everything feels right with the world, and you're like, wait, no, no, I gotta reject this feeling of solace.
You don't realize you drink it, but you're all, USA, USA. Chapter 2. Ricky sat back in her cushioned seat, taking in the upbeat crowd.
She actually marveled at how different the mood was here, an almost infantile cheer.
It was such a contrast with her own side's crowds, always accompanied by shouting and rage that often spilled over into violence.
Rage.
Rage and anger had become driving forces in life, expressed by her one cosmetic indulgence of black nail polish and lipstick.
Oh, and the hair.
Green, her choice today, all served the rage.
It fueled her activism against a world in a state of perpetual injustice.
But rage was not the face for today.
Especially not with this bunch.
Rage was as out of place here as her hair and makeup colors.
But so far, the makeup and hair hadn't caused more than a glance.
So hold on.
She said this is a choice for today?
This is like a temporary color that maybe they put in every day?
Because I think that's what they're saying.
You'll have to keep listening.
They're not even down.
They're not even down.
I love the green hair.
It served the raging beast within.
I needed to rebel against normalcy by dyeing my hair and using the bad color on my nails.
Black.
Black like my heart.
Black like my womb.
A cheer sounded across the arena.
Two younger men carried one elderly man down the stairs into his seat.
A standing ovation on both sides of the aisle accompanied them.
Ricky turned to the trad wife next to her.
Whoa!
She said trad wife!
That's crazy.
That's amazing.
That's amazing.
For like a 50 plus year old author to use the phrase trad wife?
Wow.
Yeah, you know what?
An amount of self-awareness I would have not expected.
I might say we might be dealing with a liberal grifter right now, but, you know, do you?
What's going on?
I mean, more power to them.
It's so beautiful.
If a liberal grifter wrote this, they're a fucking genius.
I'm just going to say it.
It's really funny that your pin name is Liberty Adams.
But, I mean, that's cool.
The woman was perky and cute.
Her nose wrinkled when she smiled.
Welcome!
Glad you came.
I sure hope you have fun here.
Sure, said Ricky.
It's great.
She wondered how she could ask the woman about blacks, gays, intersectionality.
Nothing in a persona, her dress, or her casual conversing gave Ricky any clue to her views on race or injustice.
In fact, for the nearly full hour Ricky had been inside the venue, she hadn't even...
even a glimpse of what she came to see.
She decided to take a walk around the place.
Go racist hunting.
She turned to the lady.
Excuse me.
She stood up slightly and put her hoodie on the chair.
I'm going to walk a bit.
Could you save my seat, please?
The woman, a redhead, smiled and stuck out her hand.
Of course.
What's your name?
Ricky wondered if she was shaking hands with an actual racist.
Uh-oh.
Uh-oh.
I'm Ricky, she said.
Nice to meet you, Ricky.
I'm Marilyn.
The woman patted the seat of Ricky's chair.
See you later.
A promenade that separated the lower from the upper seating levels ringed the arena.
Ricky strolled it, watching.
Up above, seats were filling in quickly.
Below, on the floor, swarmed almost unbelievable numbers of security.
Some were venue employees in orange t-shirts, manning each section of seats.
I'll skip this.
This is where she talks about the operators who are doing security and how she's impressed by them or whatever.
Also, I do really like how this is a good depiction of a lib.
Ricky would want to be like, excuse me, Meredith or Marilyn?
Excuse me, Marilyn?
How do you feel about the blacks?
That is what a lib would do.
Yeah, how intersectional are you?
Yeah, excuse me, on a scale of one to inclusive, how intersectional are you?
How do you feel about the blacks and the gays?
She decided to go back up to the entrance lobby and find the restrooms.
Uncertain of where to go and a bit disappointed she hadn't spotted any overt racism.
She was shocked when she turned a corner and nearly collided with a group of college-aged youth, several of them persons of color.
Just as shocking were the whites in their midst.
What?
And this, like, I had to pause and, like, think about this.
Like, why would she be shocked to see whites there?
What she means is she's shocked that there are whites hanging out with the students of color.
She, like, nudges someone.
She's like, hey, hold on.
Isn't someone supposed to lynch them?
What's happening?
She's like, I brought a rope.
Yeah, I did bring her.
I wanted to seem authentic, so I did bring a rope.
And word.
And she, like, tries to get a chant going.
Yeah.
She's all, USA, USA. That's all you gotta chant.
You can do anything you want.
Just as shocking were the whites in their midst.
The whites.
The whites.
At least two of the group wore red MAGA hats.
They all carried rally signs.
It shattered her expectations.
She'd ignored the sprinkle of Hispanics, Asians, and blacks in the crowd as she waited in line earlier, thinking them merely outliers, betrayers to the resistance cause.
But this, up close and literally in her face, she could not deny.
As she tried not to gape, they stepped around her pleasantly, smiling like the rest of the racists.
One of them flashed a thumbs-up sign.
What she'd been told was the president's secret sign to the whitest of his base.
The thumbs up?
It would have made sense, except it was one of the black youths who flashed it.
I love this.
The youth did the thumbs up sign.
Something that my fellow liberals have assured me is a sign of white supremacy.
The thumbs up.
But it was a black guy who did this.
I also heard as they were passing that the black guy had a job.
Which I had always thought was, yeah, a sign of patriarchal, toxic masculinity.
Yeah, there's no way.
Why would you do that?
Why wouldn't you just live off the system?
Why am I paying taxes if you're going to go get a job?
He was saying, yes sir, no ma'am, please and thank you.
Which I've always understood to be blatant fascism.
Code word among fascists.
Please and thank you.
Yeah.
No, this is, yeah, of course, a reference to the okay sign.
That's what this is.
Which is kind of funny because it is like telling on themselves.
They are saying, I'm not going to say the okay sign because that one actually is that.
So I can't actually use that one here.
I have to think of something that's not that.
That's not that, yeah.
Just real close.
I saw a man put his heels together and bring his hand up to his forehead in what was clearly a sign.
Mussolini used to do this gesture.
I've seen this.
I've seen this in the movies.
John Wayne loved to do this one.
But John Wayne was being funny, though.
She walked on, and then she saw a stand that said, Resolve Gun Club and Rifle Range.
Ah, pay dirt.
No guns in sight, though, just signs and literature.
I'm going to fast forward through this.
This is where she tries to bait the gun stand owner into giving her a gun without a background check.
Oh, that rules.
He's like, no ma'am, sorry, we follow the law here and you have to take these NRA safety courses, provided free, of course, because we care about your well-being.
I don't think those are the gun show rules.
I feel like a convention would be gun show rules.
I don't think those are the gun show rules.
I think they're a little bit different.
I think a gun show is a very specific thing.
I don't think you can just have a presidential rally slash gun show.
This is more like a DSA booth at the back of a Chapo trap house show.
I think that's what we're working with here.
Yeah, she says, can I get one assault rifle, please?
Can I get an AR? An AR-15?
Can I get 15 ARs?
No, she doesn't even say that.
He corrects her, and he's like, oh, it's AR. It's an AR-15, and AR stands for Armalite.
Armalite?
Yeah, you know.
She takes a photo with him to use for her blog fodder.
She leaned against a wall and looked hard at the people rushing past her, all smiling and laughing, getting seats, crowding around the souvenir table.
It was a display of diversity she seldom saw anywhere.
More men were at the gun club table.
Several young men were engaged in conversation.
Smiles, laughter, arms waving, and big gestures.
The sort of things she despised about men.
So it's not so much that she's never hung out with Trump people, so she's hanging out with men.
Like, it's not...
It's men that are blown down with the boys.
It's not even that it's Republicans.
It's just like...
She's never seen people hang out.
Well, there's two things.
She's never seen diversity of this kind.
Never mind, like, being a young person on a college campus, which is probably statistically more diverse than, like, whatever part of the state that that university is actually in, right?
Always, yeah.
That's one thing.
This Trump rally is more diverse than even my liberal college campus.
Whoa, that's frickin' nuts.
Second of all, she just, yeah, she doesn't like men.
Because the men on college campuses are not men.
They're boys, like Harold.
They have their knees together.
They're looking down their feet.
They don't wave to each other.
They don't high-five.
They don't, what is this?
Shit posture.
Yeah.
And yeah, these are the type of male gestures she fucking hates.
Smiles and laughter.
More worrisome was the lack of material for the blog post she had to write.
She'd encountered almost nothing of stereotypes and would be forced to embellish the gun guy and the suburban housewife seatmates.
The rest would have to be conjured up.
She took out her phone to take shots.
I like how not writing is not an option.
She's got to get into the sisterhood, man.
This is her final task.
She took out her phone to take shots with her camera.
While she thought she wanted to get random and candid photographs of the people here for her blog post, it was difficult to stay true to the stereotype attendee.
Women of all colors, sizes, and economic levels were everywhere.
in fact there must be at least as many women if not more than the men she captured on screen a group of typical white guys foreign number walking together they wore matching t-shirts upon closer inspection she was disappointed to read firefighters for trump could she make something out of white male firefighters better than nothing she snapped a pic with little enthusiasm what a piece of shit
But her biggest problem, she realized, was eliminating young people, Asian, Hispanic, and Blacks.
Nearly every frame contained minorities, the marginalized.
She managed to click off a few totally white frames, but not nearly as many as she had expected.
When she heard a huge roar from the crowd, she hurried back to her seat.
So you're like a conservative reading this, right?
And you're like, typical liberal wants to exterminate the blacks and the Mexicans from the photograph of white people.
They're the ones who want the segregation, not us.
Imagine if that was true.
Imagine if Trump rallies were the most diverse place, and that is where you saw the most minorities.
I think you would have lost.
I think that the people who are really gung-ho were like, this is sus.
This is sus.
Yeah, the vibes are fucked.
At least a couple black dudes wearing Wranglers, we're going to let that.
That's what we're about.
Second generation Mexican dudes, naturally, they drive nice trucks.
But if there's a bunch of them, just a whole bunch of diversity, hard to comprehend diversity, I feel like they would be like, this is sus.
I don't know about this Trump character anymore.
Yeah, they would like turn to each other and be like, are we the baddies?
What's happening?
Yeah.
Oh, I don't want to be the baddies.
I don't want to be the baddies.
Um...
When she heard a huge roar from the crowd, she hurried back to her seat.
It was her last chance, she thought, to find proof in the pudding.
And that pudding would be Donald Trump.
Beautiful sentence.
Surely there would be plenty of angry propaganda when he came out on stage.
Ricky had a good ear for the alt-right's dog whistles.
She would listen carefully to every word the president said.
Chapter 3. If the Republicans didn't use the word God so much, thought Ricky, they might be worth listening to.
Oh!
A quick pivot!
To help pass the tide.
It's just her instinctual rejection of anything righteous that leads her away from the Republicans' messaging and talking points and politics.
It's funny because I'm like, if God wouldn't use the whole bigotry thing so much, it might be worth listening to.
It's like the reverse.
Yeah.
To help pass the time and also gather material for a clever lead into her blog post, Ricky decided to count the number of times the president used the name God in his speech.
Even with the warm-up speakers, politicians, campaign personnel, and other public figures, God was freely invoked.
If she also counted the Pledge of Allegiance and the two black women Hold on.
That has to be Diamond and Silk, right?
It's got to be Diamond and Silk.
That's the only two black women who would...
If there is a video of Diamond and Silk leading a prayer, I need to see that.
I need to hear a Diamond and Silk pray.
Oh, it's great.
They do the call and response shit.
Like, they do the ad-libs.
Hell fucking yeah.
Like, the hype.
I can't remember.
I think it's maybe Silk is the hype girl.
Yeah.
She does that.
She does that throughout the whole fucking prayer.
It's great.
Honestly, it's a good thing I didn't know about this because, you know what?
I might have voted different in 2020. Or at all.
Ricky bowed her head for the prayer and stared at the tips of her toes.
She could not help but peer up at the two black women on stage.
The sight was even more unsettling than the diverse crowd of attendees she had encountered earlier.
If Trump was a racist, if his supporters were racist, then why were these ladies given such a respected role?
Even more puzzling was the lack of reaction of the people in the audience.
Nobody, except her, seemed to think this was anything unusual at all.
This is again like the conservative argument that liberals are the real racists.
Everybody else is okay with the black women on stage.
It's the secret undercover liberal who's like, What are they doing up there?
Gross!
I mean, again, yeah, liberals do be silencing black women.
Well, I mean, if it's Diamond and Silk, I mean, I'll let them run it.
They just put out a parody of them being on The View that I can't wait to watch when this is over.
Oh, they're like pretending to be Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg and shit?
Yeah, they're just, like, yelling at Whoopi Goldberg, and whenever Whoopi Goldberg's talking, it's their faces, like, superimposed next to anybody else who's yelling at Whoopi.
She glanced sideways at Marilyn to find her prayerfully engaged.
Her eyes were shut, her hands folded, her lips were moving slightly, her head nodding.
Ricky was discreet enough to wait to address Marilyn until they finished praying.
Who are those women, she asked.
Diamond and Silk, she said, without taking her eyes from the two rotating figures.
Oh, shit!
Oh, fuck yeah!
Ha ha!
As the raucous applause died down, Marilyn finally looked over at Ricky and grinned.
Two sisters from North Carolina.
They're famous supporters since 2015. Aren't they great?
Everyone loves them.
Ricky didn't know exactly what Marilyn meant by 2015. Perhaps it referred to the early campaign.
Yeah, obviously.
Real quick, gotta do a shot of Prosecco for Diamond and Silk.
If you're playing the drinking game, Diamond and Silk I haven't mentioned in the book now, so I'm gonna take a shot.
Aren't they great?
Everyone loves them.
Ricky didn't know exactly what Maryland meant by 2015. What could this string of numbers possibly refer to?
What the fuck?
Ricky's a big, dumb idiot.
But a bigger mystery was the prominence of these two women of color before what was supposed to be a racist crowd.
Along with other jarring sites at this rally, it didn't match up with her definition of racism.
But if she had to define racism, Ricky was not certain that what she saw here would fit.
She pushed the thought away.
That was impossible.
The idea that these folks did not hate people of color or were not homophobic...
that they accepted diversity simply conflicted too strongly with her worldview hers was the anti-racist intolerant bunch the people she sat with now were the haters not only did they hate whoever did not look like them they were uncouth and uneducated maryland for instance maryland's zeal for anything and everything happening at this rally was getting on her nerves didn't the woman have any self-awareness
Did she realize how she was broadcasting her bigotry with her constant arm waving and fist pumping?
Probably more white supremacist dog whistles.
Oh, man. man.
These seeming anomalies far outweighed in importance.
This is written a lot like the parable where people denied Jesus' existence.
They're like, there's no way he did this miracle.
This must be magic.
This is how it's written.
It's written in that same exact way.
It's so funny.
She's in disbelief because she's seeing it and she can't deny it.
But she's like, no.
Wait, you mean they had black women lead a prayer?
But this is politics.
They don't do that in politics.
Yeah.
And also just, like, the idea of Ricky being an activist and not understanding that, yeah, there's, like...
2015. Well, that, but just, like, not understanding that, yeah, there's, like, black Republicans...
There's been black Republicans for fucking decades now.
Like, what are you talking about?
Also, like, thinking, oh, he must not be racist because he used two black women to introduce him.
Like...
Yeah.
Yeah.
That's...
Use being the operative word.
Um...
Chapter 4. By the time the president boomed his last signature, crowd roaring, We will make America great again, chant.
Mike had one man-sized crush on a pint-sized woman just from watching her.
Green hair, black lips, easy to pick out, even when the crowd was on its feet, cheering, which was often.
Okay, so we're switching a POV to Mike here.
Yeah, yeah, interesting.
Who's apparently just been staring at her and stalking her from behind the entire rally.
She'd sat mostly quiet, although a few times he'd caught her quickly applauding, occasionally standing, perhaps caught up in the mood of the ladies all around her.
Oh, I think I skipped over the part where she actually, like, genuinely stood and clapped for the veterans.
Oh, wow.
Her dark clothing and small size made her almost disappear.
So, he watched her closely, fascinated by her, but alert to the threats posed by the protesters, anti-fascists especially.
The police would be few and far between in the vast parking lot on the outskirts of the venue, and their assistance could not be counted on.
Oh my god.
From what you're saying right now, it sounds like he's ready to get her.
He's gonna kidnap her.
This is terrifying.
I mean, he does.
Clearly, out of her element, he needed to be her eyes and ears.
Don't do this, fellas.
Hey, Spunky Half-Pint, I got your six.
I got your six?
When you're cheering for the veterans, I'm silently watching, waiting for assessing the threat level.
Yeah.
After the rally, she hunkered down in her chair, texting like mad, taking an occasional call.
Mike did the same.
Security shoot her out of the area once the sea of attendees thinned.
He made his exit too, but stayed out of her field of vision.
She was on the phone again.
He could see her head tilt this way and that as she walked, focused on her conversation.
Perhaps she was paying only enough attention not to trip.
As unaware as she was, she needed watching over, And there was only one soul in this whole crowd who was willing to do it.
He was his grandfather's boy, and Mike knew very well how useful his type could be.
He didn't take her hostility in the trolley car personally.
All he wanted was a chance to talk to her.
All he wanted was a chance to be aware of the situation and look for an opportune moment to talk to her.
To protect her.
I need to protect her from things.
Why am I in your van?
I need to keep you safe.
Yeah, it's the safest place in this parking lot.
I promise.
The doors are locked.
Don't worry.
Yeah.
Mike scanned their surroundings for threats, then focused in on her.
For such a small body, she had a strong build.
She had straight shoulders with a tiny waist cinched in with a narrow belt, her shirt tucked into a snug pair of jeans.
I thought they were low-slung.
I mean...
I guess they were low-slung, yeah.
I guess that's what she means, low-rise.
When I hear low-slung, I think sagging.
Yeah, totally.
I thought they were kind of baggy.
I was picturing maybe some of those really cheap lounge pants that white women with dreadlocks wear.
Women that wear belly chains also wear these pants.
That's what I was picturing.
Mike scanned her breasts were firm and well shaped.
Nice to look at.
That's in there.
You didn't make that up right now.
No, I didn't make that up.
Alright, cool, cool, cool.
Good for her.
How could I possibly?
Good for you.
It takes a woman to know how to describe the female form such as this.
Mike was like, she's giving firm breasts.
They are nice to look at.
They are nice to look at.
Girl, you're giving nice to look at breasts right now.
You are giving that.
For me, it's the breasts.
For me, it's probably...
I know you wouldn't see this coming, but for me, it's probably the firm nice-to-look-at breasts.
But go ahead.
Go ahead.
In the amber glow of the parking lot lights, he watched the pelting rain grow heavier.
She had no coat, only a hoodie tied around her waist.
This she untied and slipped into.
She skirted the crowd, keeping her phone in her hand, her vision trained on the screen.
That hoodie wasn't enough to keep a pissant warm, let alone dry.
And with this rain, a serious chill would catch her before long.
She's like, ma'am, you're going to get chilly.
You need to get over here.
One of these days a real rain is going to come and wash the green from her hair.
That's when you learn it was not the lights.
lights it was the color of her energy that was the amber something slammed him hard from behind he stopped pissed off he'd let his attention wander that's the the mark of a real man he's not mad that he got hit he's mad that he let his attention wander so that he got hit yep that makes sense he knew what it was anti-fascists The black hooded figures and bandanaed faces gave them away.
Somehow they'd managed to infiltrate the throng of peaceful rally goers without attracting attention.
The punks ran and jumped through the crowd, tripping people, pushing and shoving, steering up mayhem.
He reached out to a couple of them and pulled down their masks.
At least three set on him, but it was like taking out his sisters.
Wow.
Wow.
Less fun, though.
I used to beat my sisters up all the time.
I used to always beat my sisters up.
I used to stuff them out.
Yeah, this was like curb stomping one of my sisters.
Yeah, it was easy.
No problem.
Suplex City.
Two quick shoves and a boot in some jerk's belly and he was free.
He looked at the girl sprite.
She was surrounded by them, paying attention now.
They were pushing her, raising bike locks and bats at her, screaming and taunting, driving her backwards and further away from him.
He saw her stumble, unable to escape the bullies.
Why they'd chosen to pick on her he couldn't fathom.
All he knew was they'd chosen wrong.
One of them shoved her.
He saw her step backward into the punk's partner in crime.
She raised her arms to try and shield herself.
Her phone flew from her grasp.
Now her attention was fully on the bullies.
Fully on the bullies.
Fully on the bullies. - No.
Now her attention was fully on the bully.
Self-preservation became her goal.
A few men tried to intervene, but the anti-fascists soon overwhelmed them with their numbers.
They beat back the men, two or three to one, who had to retreat to save their own skins.
Just as he reached her, something bumped his foot, her phone.
She saw it at the same moment.
She dove for it, but one of the bullies caught her in the side with his boot and bent her double.
She howled and went to her knees.
There's thousands of Antifa now, right?
Yeah.
Okay, just want to make sure.
That's it.
I don't know.
Yeah, and it's like, I mean, not to get petty or trite or whatever here, but usually when there's footage of mobs hitting women, I don't think I've ever seen it be Antifa doing that.
It's usually a guy in a Fred Perry polo or a light blue button-up shirt cold cocking a fucking girl in black and then it's not even looking in their direction.
And then it's shared a million times on right-wing media, and including by Andy Ngo, who then doxes her.
yeah yeah uh she howled and went to her knees but managed to stand up again the bully swarmed in and surrounded her mike stepped in intending to make jello out of the coward who kicked her in the ribs his big body easily broke the wall of wimps who turned on him he swooped low grabbed the phone and shoved it into his coat pocket he did a spinning kick three assailants fell to their knees just kidding Wait, this is Patreon, right?
Yeah.
So I can jerk off?
No.
Okay, okay.
You don't have to wait until after.
Never mind.
I'm going to wait for it.
I've got to do my own recording now so I can listen back to this.
He swooped low, grabbed the phone and shoved it in his coat pocket.
On his way up, he slammed into the pricks who assaulted her, then saw the one who'd put his shoe in her side.
He plowed his elbow into the guy's nose.
A crunch and a scream followed.
He felt like Moses parting the Red Sea as he grabbed her wrist to pull her out of the melee.
Escape time.
She fought him, pulling back, thinking he was with the assault group.
Let's go.
He yanked harder than he wanted, but it was past time to flee.
All around them was an unholy mass of black-clad punks, more than he could count, creating a ribbon of rage and violence.
He steered the two of them, running away from the crowd, pulling her after him.
Even in this heightened state, he was careful not to grip too hard and bruise her wrist.
Christ, it was so small.
Love that.
He's like fucking getting hard at the thought of how small her wrist is.
Yeah, so tiny.
And I also like the whole thing where not only do they like dismissing his sister, but they're also like parting the Red Sea.
Yeah.
Yeah.
We talk about it all the time.
Can you imagine a whole sea of sisters I had to smash my way through?
God.
Oh my god.
It's like the...
Oh no, I'll beat up like a million little kids.
Yeah.
Hey, you come after my family, you don't want to know what I'll fucking do.
I mean, this is what I did to my family.
You want to know what I'll do to you?
See what she gives you when you fuck my family?
Even in this heightened state, he was careful not to grip too hard and bruise her wrist.
Christ, it was so small.
It's like the wrist of a child.
A small child.
I knew I could just shatter it into a million pieces if I wanted to.
was taking her but she was no match for his strength anyway yeah what let go she says he stopped and took her by the shoulders he could hear the mob behind them interspersed with the rally goers it sounded like a full-blown riot the throngs were making their way towards the exit gates to their cars to the trolley shop he grabbed trolley stop sorry he grabbed her tighter and shoved his face into hers come with me
there isn't time to explain her shoulders heaved from fright from adrenaline from the exertion but she understood oh no He caught her in an expression, a glimpse of recognition of him as the man from the trolley.
She nodded, her eyes wide.
You'll get hurt, he said.
We'll get hurt.
We've got to get out of here.
These guys don't mess around.
They want blood.
Yours, mine, whoever.
But yours is easier to take than mine.
But, dot dot dot, the cops!
She was on the verge of hysterics.
have a stand down order is what he says she probably hated cops they all did until a situation like this arose but her fear shone like a beacon she was terrified rightfully at least she now had a sense of the danger the crowd behind him the crowd behind was losing its cohesive movement the anti-faceted Oh!
He softened his tone, certain now she was ready to listen to him.
Stay with me, and hang on to my hand.
My phone!
I've got it.
We're out of time.
Now, let's go.
I love they have a stand-down order.
I heard Hillary Clinton give it over the loudspeaker.
Hey, real quick, I'd like to plug my album, Small Pockets of Chaotic Reaction.
It fucking slaps.
She nodded in agreement with small, quick up and down jerks of her head.
Better.
Now that she was with him, they would make faster progress.
They took off again, running harder this time.
He could feel her, still behind him, urging him forward, not pulling back anymore.
They reached the last row of cars and sprinted toward the exit gate.
Some of the crowd hurried behind them.
Mike threw a quick backward glance in the direction of the mob assault.
The smell of smoke was accompanied by flames of orange on the black sky.
They've already lit the venue on fire.
Hell, yeah.
Remember that Trump rally that Antifa set on fire?
Yeah, totally.
Like, if we were to set a presidential rally on fire...
Sorry.
If people were to set a presidential rally on fire, that'd be...
A wild thing.
That'd be a wild thing.
It'd be a wild thing, and then you'd get fucking thrown into prison for, I don't know, 20 to 30 years.
Yeah, no, that would excuse the government to bomb little towns.
It would be bananas.
Against the flames, against the light of the parking lot, the rain kept falling.
So they were so good at fire that they managed to start to do an arson in the rain.
this is a thursday song he was glad he hadn't brought his truck here even though he needed some way out of the danger what's a stand down order she shouted through her panting figures she never heard about vengazi i didn't do what i'm going Nah, I wish.
Uh, what's a stand-down order?
She shouted through her panting.
He wondered why she was asking that now.
It means don't do your job.
Talking hurt his lungs, made him gasp for breath.
Don't ask questions.
Just run.
I'm not going with you anywhere.
He was getting pissed.
Just shut up and run.
This is, like, it's so funny.
This is, like, it's trying to be Commando or something.
Like, it's trying to be an 80s action movie where a hero has to, like, take charge and take ownership of a woman for her own good sort of thing.
But it's, like, she can't get a cab at this point.
Also, Doug, she has black nails and, like, green hair and black lipstick and, like, looks like a big ol', like, not trad woman, I guess.
So, like...
She's gonna be fine.
She's not wearing a MAGA hat.
She's not in disguise at all.
He took her hand again, more firmly, and kept running.
She was dragging behind, protesting the punishing pace.
Yeah, she's protesting.
I was running too fast.
I was being too athletic.
I was keeping up too high of a pace, and that's why she was protesting me dragging her through the streets at night.
A total stranger.
He slowed to a fast walk.
Finally, he saw Ronan's truck turn onto the street just ahead of him and stop.
Mike pulled open the door of the rear cab and turned to her, ready to hoist her inside.
Oh, no.
She sat back on her heels.
He didn't know how she had the strength to resist like this.
The strength to resist like this?
Wow, you're a lot stronger than my sister.
Do you know what we just escaped from?
They get paid to do this.
They'll keep coming.
All you are to them is something not bloody enough.
Mike shook hands.
Well, okay, Ricky Ellis, this is Ronan.
Ronan, this is Ricky.
Hello, Ricky.
Hi, Ronan.
Okay, can you get in now?
He saw her hesitate, then glanced toward the arena.
The mob was still out there.
She vaulted through the partially closed door like a scared rabbit landing on top of him.
For a moment, he held her in his lap, feeling her tremble.
He slammed the door shut.
Oh, I didn't like that.
Go, Ro.
I don't like feeling her.
Her dripping form tumbled over him to the opposite seat.
Oh, he's warm for her form, dude.
Whoa, we got horny real quick.
We got horny out of nowhere.
She hugged the door, looking at him as if he might be, as if she might be his next murder victim.
Ronan hung a U-turn and turned back.
As the streetlights washed through the truck's interior, he saw she was still trembling.
Fright, cold, he took off his jacket.
Oh, yeah.
The one that she defiled earlier?
Like, why are you thinking about your grandpa this much, man?
Like, I love almost all my grandparents.
I love your grandparents.
I don't think about my grandpa when I'm, like, I don't know, engaging in, like, advancing with romantic intent.
I'm like, God, I hope my grandpa is happy with how I'm behaving.
Yeah, his grandfather would be proud.
God, my grandfather would be proud of how I was able to achieve an erection right now.
You kidnapped her good, and you still got hard.
Good for you, bud.
Take this.
It's like the most basic shit.
Like, oh, he gave his jacket to a cold person.
Like, God, my grandpa's crying tears of joy right now.
And it was like a jacket he was going to throw away, but he looked twice at the trash can and at the homeless person and gave it to the on-house person.
She shot him a look, but snugged it in close to her.
Her hair was matted flat to her head from the rain.
The black makeup was smeared and running down her cheeks.
Given her condition, it fit.
Like she was orphaned or something.
He's so fucking horny for her right now.
She's all alone.
I'm only thinking to help her.
You have a small orphan's wrist, and I can move you as easily as my sister.
God.
Man, Liberty's got some stuff to work out.
Well, this is just how masculine men behave.
That's true.
That's true.
I wouldn't know anything about it.
Like she was orphaned or something.
Never been more attracted to a woman.
Like she needed love.
He felt sympathy and protectiveness.
I could be her mom and her dad.
Yeah.
I could be her dad and her brother.
She's an orphan.
She's got nothing.
I can just make them all up.
I can do whatever I want with it, really.
She came with me.
She didn't escape.
Doesn't even know what words mean.
I can just tell her anything.
I could dog-tooth this bitch.
He felt sympathy and protectiveness, even though she'd been an asshole earlier on the train.
You gave me this because you think I'm weak.
Well, at the moment, aren't you?
If you don't like it, you can give it back.
Hey, you two, said Ronan.
Boss, where to?
I love that Ronan only calls him boss to symbolize the hierarchical nature of their relationship.
Yes.
I love Mike because Mike is powerful but took the train.
Took the trolley.
Well, he was smart because he didn't want his truck to get his fucking windshield bashed in.
They would have seen a truck.
Absolutely.
They would have seen an F-150 Raptor and known that it belonged to a racist.
Yeah.
You can't roll coal there.
Mike thought for a moment.
He wanted to get his truck, now parked in his driveway.
It was left home in favor of the trolley, but he was uncertain.
He'd get her home, safe and sound, but first...
You hungry?
Yeah, my dog!
She just sort of made herself smaller and didn't answer.
Well, I want some coffee.
You want coffee?
This time she nodded.
He could see the earrings in her ears as they bobbled up and down in the dimness.
Drop us at the diner, would you, Ronan?
Sure, boss.
Ronan put his foot to the gas and sped on through the night.
Chapter 5. Two mugs clattered onto the counter.
Hot, black coffee poured into his cup.
This is like, this chapter is the most confusing.
I'm going to read it and I'm going to probably have trouble with who's saying what.
It's not going to sound like it makes sense because it doesn't really make sense.
So just be forewarned.
I got to tell you, this is the first time I got horny is when you said hot, black coffee.
It's the first time I got horny.
I'm just warning that there's three characters talking in this scene, so there's no way of telling.
Because of how poor this woman is at writing, there's no way of telling who's saying what.
Two mugs clattered onto the counter.
Hot black coffee poured into his cup.
Sally, the waitress working the counter tonight, eyed him.
Blonde and sweet?
Mike looked at Ricky, then at Sally.
You said it, sailor.
They both laughed as she slid over the cream and sugar They always shared this joke Coffee?
Ricky was staring at both of them like they spoke a foreign language.
Sounds like Ricky is asking what coffee is.
Yeah.
The girl needed to relax a bit if she ever hoped to get through a meal in this place.
Hey, you gotta chill out.
You gotta be cool, bitch.
Bitch, be cool.
We're in a diner right now, okay?
You need to fucking chill right now before something bad happens.
The girl needed to relax a bit if she ever hoped to get through a meal in this place.
She looked down into her lap.
Her lips moved.
She mumbled something.
What?
Speak up!
The waitress looked at Ricky with one brow arched.
The pot of coffee was clutched in her fist, a bit like a hot poker she might use.
It's not even shaped like a poker at all.
There's a way to use a hot pot of coffee as a weapon, and it's not as a fucking poker.
You create a poker out of it by bashing it over someone's head, and then it's a poker.
Yeah, or you fucking fast times at Ridgemont higher, you know, you throw the pot in her face.
Hell yeah.
It's pretty easy.
Yes, please.
Coffee splashed into the empty mug.
The waitress stalked off.
Just what the hell did that mean, she said.
Blonde and sweet.
Yeah, like women, get it?
Her mouth turned into a pout.
Here, let me show you.
He tipped up the cream pitcher.
Blonde.
His coffee changed from rich brownish black to caramel, colored.
Now, sweet.
He dumped sugar into his spoon and stirred up his coffee.
You rad feminists need to learn to relax.
It's a joke, okay?
Got nothing to do with you.
You have green hair, obviously.
I didn't order a matcha, you dumb bitch.
Who are you talking about?
Sorry for my off-color humor of calling cream blonde.
Yeah, yeah.
My bad.
My bad.
Except, there was a head of striking blonde hair beneath the green shit.
On second thought, don't you ever get tired of that?
Tired of what?
Being mad all the time.
Her jaw clenched again.
I'm not mad.
He wanted to say more, but then she reached for the sugar and cream for herself.
Ah, somebody who knows what good coffee's all about.
And again, this is like...
I don't understand this.
I thought it would be like drinking black.
Black rifle coffee.
Black coffee, black metal, black cats.
I think this is a contrarian thing that's happening here.
Like he's showing his softer...
This is like a weird quirk he has about him.
Yeah, exactly.
He's like, oh no, I appreciate it.
Because calling it blonde is a thing.
Starbucks did that recently.
That originated in Australia.
But that's a roast, right?
That's not with cream.
No, it's not.
But people have used it now in that sense.
So I don't know.
Okay, interesting.
Somebody who knows what good coffee's about.
I thought you believed in ladies first.
She carefully poured out measures of cream and sugar and stirred them into her cup.
Touche, he said.
This is such good banter.
I love the joke.
The joke of blonde and sweet taking up three pages.
It's funny because I can smell the roasting of coffee, but it's him being roasted.
Touche, he said.
If he looked past the anger, he could see in her the barest hint of sweet.
Sally plopped down the order book.
She scribbled without looking at Mike.
Your usual?
Yes, please.
This time she glanced up at Ricky.
Just coffee.
Why aren't you eating?
And I don't know if it's the waitress saying that, or if it's Mike.
The waitress has already been kind of an asshole to her, so I could see her being like, why aren't you eating?
Yeah.
The hands went to her lap again, twisting a ring on her finger.
I didn't bring any money.
Hey, I'm the one who dragged you out of the rain and away from the mob against your will.
Hey, I kidnapped you because I saw my sister in your face.
The least I could do is buy some food for you.
I used to also keep my sister hungry as well.
It was good for her.
Development.
Grilled cheese with fries, please.
Whole wheat.
Sally wrote out the order, then refilled their coffees.
Ricky sat back and looked around the place, seeming to like what she saw.
Wow, so this is a Denny's, huh?
What's going on?
This is a waffle house?
It's a house made of waffles?
Also, I'm surprised they didn't make her vegan.
Missed opportunity, y'all.
They probably think, like, grilled cheese is vegan.
Like, they don't know.
Yep, totally, totally.
A tuna sandwich.
She liked what she saw.
She sipped.
So this is America, huh?
This is Americana?
A jukebox?
Rock and roll?
Well, alright.
Alright.
Okay.
I can do whatever I want.
This is freedom?
Wow, okay.
Hmm.
Huh.
TV memorabilia.
Curious.
Curious.
Wow, is that...
You know, my dad always talked about Dick Van Dyke, but he never said how handsome he was.
Wait, all of you really love Lucy?
All of you?
I can see why.
I'm beginning to feel it.
Alright, alright.
She seemed to like what she saw.
She sipped, her jaw unclenched.
She even raised her cup.
Cheers.
Their eyes met as he lightly clinked his rim to hers.
To intersectionality.
Are you making fun of me?
Of course not, he said, pretending to be offended.
Intersectionality works for everybody, if you think about it.
Amen.
Amen.
And then Ricky says, No, it doesn't.
You don't know what you're talking about.
I'm trying to fuck you.
I love this so much.
This conservative author thinks they got one over on the intolerant lib...
Who says intersectionality, like the liberal version of intersectionality just means black people.
Yep.
Like the liberal version of intersectionality means white people prostrating themselves on the ground in front of minorities or LGBTQ or whatever.
And he's like, you know, when you think about it, intersectionality kind of works for everybody.
And she's like, no, absolutely.
It's not for white guys.
Yeah.
He's like, well, I don't know.
Have you tried Snoop Dogg's 19 Crimes Wine?
No, it doesn't.
You don't know what you're talking about.
Of course I do.
You think you get to make the rules, but your rules only exist in your twisted world.
It's not even a word.
What?
It's not even a word.
Rules are not even a word?
If you're intersectional for what?
Being female with green hair and white?
I'm one quarter Mexican.
Then I'm intersectional for white and male and Scottish-Swedish descent and that makes me less than human, at least according to your people, right?
You know how lefties are always disqualifying Scottish people?
Again, a fundamental misunderstanding of the thing they're trying to make fun of.
Not even make fun of, but criticize.
Have a, quote, conversation about it or whatever.
I know this is a romance book or whatever, but it's reflective of the actual understanding of what intersectionality is.
Because, yeah, Ben Shapiro or every other media source they consume will tell you that intersectionality just means white people are less than everybody else.
That's what it means.
And he's like, no.
So if you're intersectional because you're a woman and you have green hair, then I'm intersectional because I'm also a blend of European race.
He thinks a person can be intersectional.
Well, I mean, Scottish people do wear kilts.
I mean, come on.
Oh, you're going to stan Harry Styles but then knock Scottish people?
Yeah.
It's that thing where they're like, oh, you're a black person.
That means you're diverse.
Sorry, I guess I'm not diverse as a white person.
My fault.
Like, oh, it's an all-black TV commercial because of diversity.
Yeah.
Like, they can't have a white person on there because white people aren't diverse.
Oh, a white person isn't diverse.
No, it's fucking bullshit.
I mean, like, I'm a white dude.
I've never been in a room full of black people.
That's never happened in my life.
I've never seen a room full of just black people.
Never.
What the fuck?
That's what they're thinking.
Yeah.
She scoffed.
You're so sure you know it all.
It's just your white male privilege, he sighed.
I still say it goes both ways, and my rule is just as legitimate as yours.
In fact, more so.
You've got one sliver of the universe who believes the way you do.
I've got everything else on my side.
Trump famous for being popularly elected.
Well, no, but also having facts and logic on my side.
He expected back a dose of shrill female invective.
Railing about mansplaining, but all she did was glare.
Like, she couldn't think of anything to say.
Yeah, see, he's good at this.
He fucking stumped her ass.
Yeah, yeah, got her ass.
He stared back, thinking what pretty blue eyes she had.
After a few seconds, she looked...
So she's blonde and blue-eyed.
Holy shit.
After a few seconds, she looked away.
He wasn't going to budge an inch with this one.
At another time in his life, he would have let this type nail him.
Not anymore.
Michelle, his sister, had helped a lot with that.
Yep.
Yep.
Thanks, Michelle.
Shout out Michelle.
I can now handle women.
Michelle taught me what I... Michelle, the woman who I used to beat the fuck up all the time, casually...
Well, I think he learned not to take any shit from Michelle by not taking her shit.
I feel that.
Michelle nailed me one too many times and I learned to stop taking it.
Also, what does that mean?
It's an interesting phrase to use in a combative way.
Oh, she nailed me.
I can't let that happen again.
I can't be nailed.
I'm the one who does that.
Do you not like people being nice to you?
You reject guys when they act like gentlemen?
He pointed to a ring.
You got that from your grandmother.
Well, I had a grandfather.
Oh, here we go with the grandfather again.
I had a grand...
Get over it, dude.
We know, we know.
Everybody's got a...
Everybody's got one.
Yeah, literally, yeah.
It's not that big of a deal.
It's cool.
I mean, I have fucking, like, six grandfathers, okay?
That's crazy.
I'm talking about it all the time.
Who taught me to treat women with respect.
He taught me how to kidnap women.
This grandpa did a number on him, man.
Like, he can't stop thinking, like, fuck.
Ladies first was always his motto.
It's mine.
Ladies first was his motto.
What a fucking boring asshole.
I actually have a custom, I have a vanity plate that says L-D-Y-S-F-R-S-T. Yeah, I mean, that's not how you would pluralize ladies, but whatever.
I mean, with the shortened form of it, I guess.
Exactly.
Certain limitations.
The other one was taken, obviously.
There's a lot of ladies doing it first.
My grandpa had a motto.
It was, no, you please.
Yeah, yeah, you first.
Grandpa had a motto.
It was like, no, thank you.
Yeah, it's okay.
Ladies first.
No, taste this first.
It might be poison.
Grandpa had a motto.
It was women and children first.
And I asked him, but that's not what you did on the Titanic, was it, Grandpa?
And it gets real quiet.
Yeah, and that's why I run the family.
Ladies first was always his motto.
It's mine, too.
What were you doing at the rally?
Research for a blog post I'm writing.
Oh yeah, what blog?
It's called Petra's Parlance.
Not that you've ever heard of it.
Who's Petra?
Me.
You're right.
I'd never heard of it.
That's because you probably just watched Fox News or read Breitbart.
All of the above.
Plus, investors' business daily.
Ah, yes, she said.
That conservative business rag?
I might have known.
Anyway, I'm hoping this post gets me some more readers.
He's going to murder you.
Why did you tell him who you are?
He's going to murder you.
No, he still just wants to change her.
He's Captain Save-A-Ho over here, but for lives.
I don't understand why he's obsessed with the fucking green hair, I think.
That helped secure her object permanence in his brain.
I have a dark past.
She has black nails.
Why is he obsessed with this girl who's been, like, an idiot and an asshole to him?
Yeah, nothing but shitty deal.
Because you're writing this romance for, you know, I guess conservatives, right?
Like, conservatives to read.
None of them are gonna like this girl.
None of them are gonna want him to fall in love with this, like, foaming-at-the-mouth idiot lib.
That's the problem with conservatives these days.
They're over here, like, you know, fucking lib women.
Yeah.
Yeah.
She turned to him.
Hey, it's been great.
Thanks for all your help.
And thanks for the meal.
This is a great place.
It really is.
But, well, how can I get home?
I'll take you.
I live with my twin sister.
Two blocks over.
We'll walk there and get my truck.
He grabbed the check from the counter.
Let's go.
This explains a lot.
He has a twin sister.
He's a twin sister.
He's basically a woman.
He feels what she feels.
Does he have like a twin grandpa?
Is that also something that's going to be revealed later?
His grandpa is the last twin in the family.
But he ate the other twin.
Chapter 6. If she were a different female, he'd be holding her hand.
He'd wrap it, small and soft, in his larger, rougher one.
She could be, would be, his girl.
He shook his head to get rid of the image.
It could never happen.
Not possible.
Instead, he asked, where's home?
My parents' house.
It's not too far from here.
You still live with your parents?
Yeah, in the basement.
Just kidding.
Uh...
You still live with your parents?
No, I have an apartment with my best friend, but I'd rather stay at their house.
She inched closer to him.
Do you think she said I could stop in at your place and rinse the color out of my hair?
Wash my face?
Oh, what a coward!
This surprised him.
Stop at his place?
Yeah, she could stop in.
It was a place any man would be happy to bring a girl.
Even a man who lived with his sister, though he'd brought home very few.
This is a place a man could be proud of.
Any man could stand up with his back straight and bring a girl home.
What the fuck?
I mean, gotta bring your twin sister house.
Gotta live together.
That's interesting, right?
That's interesting.
Yes.
Because they're like, at this point, we're assuming that Mike is in his 30s, yeah?
I would say probably late 20s for the purposes of the romance.
For everything that he is, he can just call somebody to come pick him up to bring him to his other truck.
His employee.
He does not have roommates, let alone his sister.
That'd be cramping his style.
No.
It's a weird situation.
He's got stuff about his family.
Interesting situation, yeah.
Interesting.
She could probably have asked to move in, and he'd have probably said yes.
The black glop running down your face?
Why would you want to take it off?
She raised her hands to her cheeks, wide-eyed.
Oh my god, I forgot about all that.
Dot, dot, dot.
The rain and everything.
All I could think of was getting away from...
Imagine going through all that and not going to the bathroom before you ate dinner.
She didn't even wash her hands before she ate her fucking grilled cheese sandwich.
Bitches out the whole time.
Or maybe it was actually a good diner and they didn't have a mirror.
Like the mirror was already broken in the bathroom.
Yeah, hell yeah.
That's good.
I like that.
You look like an orphan.
It's cute.
I want to fuck you.
Give me that orphan pussy.
Give me that street urchin snatch.
Please, please.
Oh, man.
Yeah, you want some more?
Yeah, I'd give you some more gruel under the right circumstances.
Hey, listen, you can get your pudding.
You don't have to eat your meat.
You can have the pudding.
No meat necessary.
Oh, man.
Can we get you in like a little newsy cap?
Yeah.
Can we get you some suspenders and some patched slacks?
Hey, listen, I know you just washed your face, but I'm going to need you to rub a little dirt on your cheeks.
Thank you.
Can we get you to, like, tuck in a little mouse in a matchbox, sing it a little lullaby before you put it to sleep on your threadbare pillow?
Can you make yourself cry?
Do you know how to make yourself cry?
I don't know how good of an actor you are.
Have you ever seen that cover of that Korn album?
It came out after Issues.
I can't remember the name of it.
I kind of stopped listening to them.
Yeah, it was just really sad.
They were a bunch of fucking sad kids.
I didn't want to approach it because when I confront some stuff, I didn't really want to delve into that.
Have you ever seen the movie Big Eyes?
Okay, you look like an orphan.
It's cute.
She didn't react.
Just kept walking.
My parents don't like it.
So her hair and makeup, I guess.
My parents don't like it.
Probably a generational thing.
But they're my mother and father.
I indulge them.
Really?
You actually honor your father and mother like the Ten Commandments?
I mean, no, you don't.
You fucking fake the shit.
You fake the funk, which is worse.
I'd rather you betray me than lie to me to betray me.
I think it's betraying the author's actual lack of knowledge about the Bible, even though it's this whole...
We'll get into it, like how biblical everything this family is or whatever.
But for him to say, you honor your mother and father, like in the Ten Commandments...
That's one commandment.
I don't know what commandment that is because I don't care.
But you're supposed to know what...
That's like number two or something, right?
I think it's number two.
It's like a big deal.
It's like God and parents.
Will you honor thy mother and father like in that Bible shit?
That's wild.
What?
Also, you don't.
You don't do it.
You just say you do.
You indulge them, though.
You give the appearance of doing it, which is all we can do sometimes.
There's hope for you yet, he shrugged, but I don't mind taking you to your apartment.
How far is it?
she said, but that's not it.
She was shaking her head.
All these things of hers were digging at him in a strange way.
She kept showing a side of herself that belied the phony feminist crap she spouted.
It threw him off balance.
She even grabbed his bicep and moved in close to him.
Under her soft hand, his arm felt like a rock and anchor.
But she didn't seem to notice.
I love how, yeah, it's like...
So the idea is...
You know, she's soft and you're hard and you're attracted to her softness.
Yeah.
Like she theoretically would be attracted to your hard bicep or whatever.
But you're thinking about your own bicep.
Yeah.
Like that's what you that's under under her soft hand.
My bicep felt amazing.
It is interesting, though, because it's like, I don't know.
There's not that many people have like touched my bicep.
Like, this person, this lib had, like, no hope from the jump.
It was very weak.
Very weak to the allure of this very potent man.
Yeah, she just, like, comes and goes, right?
She just, like, instantly is just like, oh, I'm gonna scoot next to you, or oh, I'm going to, like, spunkily introduce myself, and then also say, gentlemen, and spit on the ground, or whatever.
Yeah.
Under her soft hand, his arm felt like a rock, an anchor, but she didn't seem to notice.
Like, she's supposed to be thinking your arm is an anchor.
Like, you're thinking about yourself right here.
Very funny.
Wait, hold on.
Did she not notice his fucking anchor arm right here?
I'm afraid, she said.
There it was, coming out again.
The girl side of her.
The side that needed somebody like him next to her.
So I love that.
Yeah, the two genders.
Hard and afraid.
Yep.
I like that.
The girl side of her being scared, being afraid.
I love it when she's so girly.
Parentheses, being afraid.
Yeah.
You know, girly.
Afraid.
Are you scared right now?
Oh yeah, you are.
Just like spooking your girl to make her more attractive to you.
Yep.
Afraid of what?
She stopped.
They hadn't reached the sidewalk yet.
They stood in the middle of the roadway.
She wanted to make a point, but he had to scoot her gently out of the way of traffic.
Here she was calling men, husbands, and fathers useless when she couldn't even look both ways crossing the street.
Christ, she required a babysitter.
In front of him and facing him, but still holding his arm, her eyes were full of trust.
So, like...
In your book about how conservatives are the sensible, morally upright people, the arc of your female protagonist realizing her true self is that she's coming to terms with her femininity, by which the author means childishness or...
Like stupidity or being afraid or being unaware of her, being helpless.
Like that's what femininity is to this author is being helpless and like a fucking, like a naif.
An orphan!
I didn't want to give it away, but I did watch the movie Turning Red today, and this is basically the same thing.
Oh yeah?
That's how the fucking Pixar girl finds herself?
Pixar basically made this movie.
She stops looking where she's walking, backs into traffic.
Yeah, it's the same thing.
It's the same exact premise, I promise you.
Sorry for the spoilers, but that's basically, if you're listening to these episodes, don't bother watching Seeing Turning Red.
It's not worth it.
Listen to these episodes instead.
Christ, she required a babysitter, and I would be the one to be the babysitter.
God, I want to sit that baby.
Oh, I want to microwave those nuggets.
I want to microwave those chicken nuggets tonight.
Oh man, the Red Baron's making a visit to this house.
Oh, this is not delivery, baby.
This is DiGiorno.
Would you like to have a pizza party of our own?
We can stay up late.
I'll let you watch the Pixar movie that your mom's so mad about.
It's garlic crust.
That's literally the line, Christ, she required a babysitter.
And I've never been more attracted to her.
How old is she supposed to be?
University, master's level.
She's in a master's program.
So she's like, yeah, and like...
What, that's like fourth year of college?
Yeah, yeah.
Fifth year of college?
More, yeah, beyond.
She probably was like a whiz kid genius who went to college at 16, judging by all of her other actions and observations in this book.
True, that makes sense.
Chapter 7. And you went to the rally exactly, why?
Michelle's question contained a faint bit of skepticism.
Ricky could tell that Mike's sister had doubts about the woman she was helping out right now.
Doubts any woman might have for another, especially one who had appeared on her doorstep in the company of her roommate brother.
I just hate it when my roommate brother brings home a girl, you know?
Especially when she doesn't look like me, you know?
Especially when she looks so attractively orphaned.
Yeah, yeah.
Very...
Claws come out.
Listen, brother, I don't want to enable anyone.
You've got to find someone with parents.
You've got to find somebody with parents.
Yeah, you've got to find somebody who looks...
You gotta find somebody who looks like they have another place to go away from you.
I can't be the only aunt, okay?
Michelle handed Ricky the makeup remover and cleansing cloth.
Ricky began to apply the remover to the smudges.
The black was everywhere.
It was a mess.
She turned on the faucet and wet the cloth, then began to wipe away the black.
She was glad to see it all washing off.
Curiosity mostly, said Ricky.
Penance of a sort.
I'm joining a feminist group.
They expected me to go over to the other side and come back and report on it.
Exactly how I chose to carry that out was up to me.
She deliberately left out the part about the blog.
It wasn't suspicion Ricky felt coming from her, but rather caution.
It would make sense that Mike and Michelle were of the same mindset.
After all, they came from the same family.
Well, she said, at the very least, I knew I expected to disagree with most everything I saw and heard.
And?
Oh, there was plenty to disagree about, she said, but I was surprised, too.
Turn around, said Michelle.
Let me check the back of your hair.
Ricky obeyed.
She could see both of them in the mirror now.
She was watching Michelle examine her hair.
What were you surprised about?
Michelle asked.
Mostly that it was full of genuinely nice people, like your brother and now you.
He saved me from the middle of the riots.
That's Mike, she said.
He thinks of other people before himself.
That's Mike.
He is a good person.
He does that.
He's also always bringing home sluts, so I just have combs for them all the time.
We're pretty ready for this.
We have a whole thing we do.
Wet wipes?
He does it for me too.
He has several in-package manscapers.
Ball wipes.
They each have to prepare the other person's date.
They have ball wipes and stuff like that.
Yeah.
"She smoothed Ricky's hair in place.
No more green.
Michelle's approval eased her anxiety.
Mike was waiting for them when Ricky walked into the living room.
She entered a bit shyly, feeling like she was presenting herself to a man on their first date.
Without the colors, she looked, she knew, like a woman who would fit in at the rally." Yes.
who might attract the attention of the blood hair blue eyes her out yeah his hair was wet from the shower curled and a little drippy his shirt was blue instead of white but the same style he was undeniably handsome and his reaction at the sight of her made her breath come up short she'd never been studied with such intensity his head you sure about that You sure about that?
Because I think the whole time you've been staring at her, like, the whole time.
Right.
back of her head he was that's true that's obsessed with for that long uh his head whipped up and his eyes opened wide a burst of energy between them hit her straight in the heart she looked away but his gaze stayed fixed on her she had to press her lips together and draw in her throat real tight to keep from smiling hard when she looked at him again it didn't matter what happened between them anyway
Ricky's priority lay with her grad program, her position in the department, and most of all, membership in the sisterhood.
Preserving the worldview took priority over a momentary flirtation.
The membership tea would take place on Friday, where she would be inducted.
She would not sacrifice that for any male, especially one like Mike.
Ready to go?
Ricky nodded.
Let me get my things.
Sure, Mike said.
I'll wait in the truck.
Chapter 8. Final chapter, I believe.
Of our episode today, rather.
If he'd been standing up when Ricky came out into the living room, he might have fallen over.
His dick took him down.
His dick got all swole, pulled him over.
The transformation from freakish liberal to wholesome girl next door was radical in and of itself.
I mean, yeah.
Yeah.
Sometimes the most punk thing you can do is wash that green shit out of your hair right now.
I've done a little trad cosplay, you know?
It's a good time, you know?
It could be freakish.
It's nice, you know?
It could be radical, too.
And there she was again, standing beneath the front porch light, saying goodnight to Michelle.
All he wanted was to get close.
Physically close.
The closer, the better.
Dog, what?
What are you saying right now?
Your intentions are not pure.
Your intentions are not good at all.
I wanted to get close.
Physically close.
Yeah, because we didn't understand what you meant.
The closer the better.
Just so you know.
I wanted my penis to be inside of her.
I'm not trying to get to know her or become intimate in that sense at all.
I don't want that.
No, no, no.
Physically.
Just physically close.
In the Bible way.
That's how I want to know her.
The closer the better.
He scrambled from the driver's seat and sprinted around to open the door for the all-American girl who is no longer the blathering lib of 30 minutes ago.
She just hadn't figured it out.
Yet.
I love him fucking scrambling over, tripping over himself to get...
Sorry, man.
You just lost any respect she had for you.
Tongues on the floor.
Try to navigate around that, you know?
Gosh, you look great.
I mean, beautiful.
He sounded like a jerk, but the words came out before he could form a coherent thought.
What a fucking jerk.
Daggers came out from her eyes.
If they were real, they'd go straight into his heart.
That meant he'd had the desired effect.
He reached for the door handle...
He's like, got her ass!
Fuck yeah!
Don't bother.
She tried to grab it first.
And don't call me that.
Hell yeah.
Beautiful?
You don't like to be thought of as beautiful?
You don't even let me be nice to you?
He laughed, even though she really knew how to piss a guy off.
Any guy but him, that is.
Another time, he'd have hung back, worried about what she thought.
Let her nail him.
Now he knew better.
He opened the door and shook.
What does that mean?
Let her nail him.
I think this is going to end in a really cool way.
Is she going to peg him?
Because I want that.
That's the only way this ends in a way I back.
No, he's put all that behind it.
Michelle taught him better.
No, that's true.
Michelle said you better not.
You've got to stop letting these ladies fuck you.
You've got to stop doing that.
I would never do that, so you can't do that.
Now he knew better.
He opened the door and chuckled.
Nope, he said what I say goes.
My house, my truck, my rules.
Goddamn right.
She hoisted herself onto the seat in silence.
He closed the door softly.
No slamming.
She was his precious cargo.
Not a buddy from work.
Oh my God.
him fingering the stitching on the upholstery then ran her hand over the leather she even gave a nod of approval black mmm It's nice.
Nice house.
Nice truck.
So what capitalist enterprise lets you buy a vehicle of this sort and own your own home?
How do you do these things?
Construction.
I'm a contractor.
He backed out of the driveway.
Oh, he didn't back into the driveway.
Chomp.
Chomp move.
Also, real quick.
Own your own home, that doesn't mean that your sister's renting from you?
Just wait.
She asked.
Fuck.
Okay.
You gotta let him answer.
Don't speak over his lived experience.
I won't do that.
Construction.
I'm a contractor.
He backed out of the driveway.
Dangerous thing to do.
You should back into your driveway.
Facts.
Uh...
And put the truck in drive.
And my sister and I both own the house.
Wow.
- He's eyeing him differently now than on the subway, at the diner, even on the walk home.
He could feel her really study him.
He was glad he'd worn his work uniform to the rally.
He wanted her to see him this way.
He wore this every day, even on weekends, even to presidential rallies.
Button-down shirt, not a dress shirt an executive would wear to the office. - No, no. - But one that would look out of place, but one that wouldn't look out of place under a sport coat either.
He had a fucking polo shirt.
Like the yuppie shirt.
No, this company's made by a company called OnTuck.
It's made to be OnTucked.
It looks like a shirt you would tuck in, except for it's called OnTucked, and it's different.
It doesn't fit the same way.
It's an OnTucked shirt.
I can't tuck it in.
So it's like I'm ready to talk business.
I'm ready to talk business, but I'm not stuffy.
My shirt's not tucked in.
This is made to be OnTucked.
One whose sleeves he could roll up if he had to get his hands dirty.
No, there's a little band inside.
If I want to roll it up, I can just pull the band out and snap the button over where it's rolled up.
It's made for if I want to roll my sleeves up.
It comes with a little pocket where you can put a packet of dirt that you can then rub on your forearms after rolling your sleeves up.
What about you?
Teaching assistant, working on my master's degree.
What's the master's in?
Let me guess.
Gender studies?
That's right.
Got her ass!
It's so good.
She just got red.
You can't even let your main character make a joke because you've already written the other main character to be a joke.
Yep.
Yep.
The joke is gender studies, but you wrote that into the world that we're in.
So it's just an honest observation.
She's just like, let me guess, gender studies?
And she's like, yeah, the author already made that joke.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah, we referenced that earlier.
You're like fucking 39 pages behind.
- Yeah. - Since there's nowhere in the real world to earn a living with a degree like that, you must plan to indoctrinate others in the evils of mom and dadhood at the university. - Wow.
Wow.
He laughed again.
Harder this time.
Business?
That's a joke, right?
Want to run mine?
Then you'll find out how the real world operates.
Calling in your receivables to make payroll because you got employees with kids that need to be fed.
After about two weeks of that, you'll toss that socialism shit right out the window.
Yeah, so she's also like a capitalist?
She says she has a business minor or whatever.
That doesn't make her a capitalist.
I know, but in this story, I think it might...
Yeah, I think that's like her being practical or something in the story.
I don't know.
Okay, yeah, yeah.
You didn't let me finish.
There's more.
I said I wouldn't need the business degree.
Actually, I did it because my parents insisted I get a degree that could support me financially.
The masters I'm paying for are on my own.
Okay.
But next election, we'll get a president with student loan forgiveness and free college.
Free?
So you'll teach for free, right?
This is fucking Rand Paul shit.
you didn't learn much in business school did you who pays your rent then she sneered this conversation was going downhill but he was drilling into her he could tell and he didn't care if she pissed if he pissed her off or not she was living in disneyland thinking like this you know disneyland a place famous for free stuff Oh, absolutely.
They're just giving things away.
Nothing costs money.
There's no capitalist enterprise at the center of that.
So one of my guys working 32 floors up gets paid the same amount as someone on the ground teaching in a classroom or pushing pencils in an office.
Amazing.
I think, yeah, your fucking wage should definitely be dictated by how high in the air you work.
Yeah.
Like, fuck off.
No, listen, my guys are higher.
They could fall further.
Why would I pay you more?
You don't fall at all.
If you fall, it's like feet, maybe?
Like two, maybe?
This is how we- My men are way- Floor's up!
Floor- They're gonna die!
This is how wages should work.
It should be astronauts should get paid the most, obviously.
And then the guy who did the Virgin Mobile skydive from the atmosphere, that guy...
Yeah.
Richard, whatever.
The Red Bull.
The Red Bull.
Oh, yeah, it was a Red Bull guy.
Get it right.
Get it right.
It was a Red Bull.
He did it from a virgin fucking airplane or whatever, I think.
But that guy.
And then the guy who dances the Charleston at the top of the Empire State Building.
He gets paid the next most.
Then my guy, who's 30 stores up.
And then linemen between my guy and you.
Yeah.
Piece of shit.
The man on the wire, the tightrope walker, he can get a good wage too.
We're okay with that.
The poor miners, they're below surface level.
They don't really get paid.
They're actually paying for the experience.
No, we're working with absolute value when it comes to height.
So if you're below the ground, if you're like two stories below the ground, that counts as two stories.
You know what I mean?
Okay.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
So it's not so much falling, but how long it takes you to get to level.
It's how away from zero you are.
Okay, all right.
I expect it.
Yeah, but you're at zero if you work on the ground.
That makes way more sense.
You shouldn't get paid at all.
I'm actually good with this.
I'm good with this idea.
I love that.
Your job is more valuable because you're higher up in the air.
And the best part about that is like, yeah, run that.
A CEO is going to put their office on the top floor.
Go ahead.
Go with that method.
Yeah.
Teaching?
That's not valuable.
You weren't high up in the air at all.
You fucking dummy.
And she's like, actually, I was an airline pilot.
Oh, shit.
Teacher.
I was teaching people how to fly.
Well, when you think about it, what those guys did on 9-11, I mean.
That's true.
Kind of earned it.
It's true, yeah.
They should have paid a lot of money.
Okay, that's the way I see it.
A guy who risks his ass every day like a coal miner who works underground who gets dirty.
See, here we go.
High up like underground people.
Who gets dirty!
Wow, a job where you get dirty.
Could you imagine that, Tony?
Could you imagine doing a dirty job?
I'm gonna be honest, even when I used to literally vacuum shit, like actual feces, I had gloves.
Yeah.
I had gloves.
Not these guys.
Yeah, so...
But it's like, okay, coal miner, yeah, that's hard work.
And that's a person who gets dirty.
What about a fucking custodian?
What about somebody who works in the fucking back of a restaurant?
Do you know how dirty the back of a restaurant is?
Does that person deserve a fucking living wage?
She didn't respond.
She just sat in the seat fuming.
Just drop me at the corner, okay?
I'll walk the rest of the way.
What?
No, look, I'm sorry if I insulted you, but I'm delivering you safe and sound to your parents' door.
I'll shut up.
But no arguments.
Just tell me how to get to your house.
They finished the ride in silence, but for Ricky's directions.
Okay.
When he turned into her parents' driveway, he left the truck idling and hopped out.
Again, just like rushing, running urgently like a cartoon character to the other side.
Just making that...
Oh, yeah.
Making that sound.
It took a while for him to, like, start moving, actually.
His feet were moving along before he got traction.
It's making, like, the sneakers on a basketball court sound.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
She reached for the handle.
I'll get the door, he said.
Of course, she let herself out and nearly collided with him in front of the truck.
Yeah, dog, let her go.
Like, let that shit go.
Like, it's been a minute.
Let that one go.
She's not into it.
You just won't let anyone be nice to you, will you?
That has nothing to do with it.
What is it then, that I'm a male chauvinist pig?
She laughed at that, finally.
Now, he said, is that so hard?
It's why, she said, still laughing at him, I wouldn't ask you to go out with me.
Well, I make it a point not to date Nazis.
Don't know what that means.
Without warning, she stepped in close, looking him right in the eye.
His female, quote, female defense shield went up.
He wanted to back away, alert to danger, but instead he went still, waiting to see what she would do.
She went up on her tiptoes and softly kissed him on the mouth.
What?
They stayed together like that for several seconds.
What?
It was the third time he tried to open the car door for her.
That's what did it.
What the fuck?
Like, what?
He broke away first, gently, and looked at her.
Her eyes were still closed.
Her pale lashes lay on her cheek.
She came back down and opened.
She's that blonde.
That's how blonde she is.
She's fucking albino.
Zero pigment.
She's so Aryan that her only can be described as pale.
Fucking translucent eyelashes.
It makes the blue eye pop more.
She came back down and opened them, keeping her gaze to his while he swallowed hard and tried to ignore the rushing sound in his head.
She could play with a man's senses as well as any female.
She had to have known what she was doing.
You're not as smart as you think you are, are you?
She said.
You shouldn't have done that.
Oh no!
Oh no!
I do lots of things I shouldn't, she said.
She turned and flounced away.
Have a nice life.
And that ends...
I can't believe she flounced, dog!
I can't believe she flounced!
The first half of Ladies First, a MAGA hat romance.
You gotta tune in next week on Patreon, where we will be covering the blog post that she actually writes concerning the events.
She's gotta do it!
We get a glimpse of the sisterhood of the traveling pantsuit, and I'm very excited about that.
I read a little bit about what that is like, and it's amazing.
Amazing.
And then we get, apparently, Mike gets doxed from the blog post and Antifa attacks his construction site.
So all I can imagine is a sort of like Arnold Schwarzenegger killing leftist protesters with like eye beams and shit like that.
Arnold Schwarzenegger meets Game of Thrones meets like Viking Tales.
Totally.
Yeah, I have another bottle of Kirkland Prosecco.
It's a different color.
It's not rosé.
I forget what this one is.
So I have another bottle of sparkling Kirkland for part two.
I'm very excited about it.
I can't believe this is happening.
I'm disappointed in our girl.
She's quite the character.
Just so many twists and turns.
She contains multitudes, if you ask me.
Hey, she better send him an invoice for that kiss.
