This is actually Assyrian text, but it’s not like people vet information anymore, so…/Image: Licensed Adobe stock, Andrea Izzotti,
Rick Duncan, a prominent evangelical Christian leader and pastor of the Church of Homogenous Thought in Wicksaheegaw, North Dakota, Monday discovered a stone tablet in the backyard of his church on which were etched the words, in Ancient Aramaic: “O, ye Trump supporters and all others, too! Ye olde harlot Stormy Daniels is fibbing when she claims to have had junk-to-junk relations with your Orange Leader! Thou mustn’t-est believest her!”
“I think this proves, once and for all, without any shadow of a doubt, that Trump didn’t have an affair with Stormy Daniels, and we should all just forget about it,” Duncan said when Spread Your Right Wings‘ (SYRW) Community Correspondent, Jeannie Jonestown sat down with him in his office in Wicksaheegaw.
Duncan went on to say that he hadn’t had time to come up with a reason that a stone tablet from Biblical-era Mesopotamia had ended up in his backyard. It was probably because the flood described in the Book of Genesis tossed so many things about in the world, causing many to end up in completely unlikely places. When he has worked out this idea a little more, he’ll get back tomes, he said. But that’s where he’s headed, most likely, on this topic.
“We have zero reasons to believe anything this man says, about this alleged Bible verse or anything else,” said Alexander Wizdum, President of the Harvard School of Divinity at a press conference. Trump supporters in the audience produced stones, some smooth, some jagged, of all shapes and sizes, and threw them at Wizdum. He died on the spot, and everyone went about their days.
Archeologists, Biblical scholars, and historians have spent entire careers verifying or debunking claims like Duncans, but this is 2018, also known as The Trump Era. Expertise is frowned upon as elitist and suspect; confirmation of biases is valued over an alignment with the facts; and a blond dude with blue eyes must be believed, excused, and propped up over all else, because otherwise, the White Race might cease to exist.
Related: Get the latest on what you can do to get Donald Trump in bed courtesy of Stormy Daniels.
Within an hour of Duncan’s posting his non-apocryphal-for-sure claim on his Church’s Facebook page, it had been shared over 96 kajillion times.
“I get all my news from my friends’ Facebook feeds, 50redstates.com, and inside this little baby,” said Chantelle Credulington, pointing at her head. She’s a member of Duncan’s Church of Homogenous Thought. “I don’t believe anything I read in the New York Times, The Washington Post, or any of those–they’re owned by the Darkforcinati, the group of Jews and Freemasons that control the world.”
Duncan said that if this whole Stormy-Daniels-refuting-lost-Bible-verse thing panned out, he would found a denomination of Christianity called the Church of Jesus Christ Contemporary Trump. He was waiting for results to come back from a focus group he and his publicist had convened to see what kind of a future was in it for him, he told me.
He then resumed playing World of Incensed Lizards (WOIL) on his computer, sighing loudly.
“Another dollar, another day, right–OH! You just got OWNED, SexyBoy40! Sorry–what?” he asked, going through as many emotions as others do in a day in ten seconds.
Duncan said he hoped to get in a few more rounds of WOIL before his afternoon sermon, which today would be on only believing what he said, and distrusting every other source of information, much as other seriously creepy Midwesterner cult leaders have encouraged their flocks to do. And much as President Donald Trump does.
“I hope that after about a year of hammering away at that message, I can convince my flock to give me enough–and by that I mean donate for the Lord–money to buy our own plot of land, upon which we’ll build a compound. The end goal of that whole thing would be–whaddya think, given that I’m a man? Right–sex with underage girls!” Duncan told us. “For the Lord, of course! I’m not some sort of sicko, after all!”
Duncan asked me if I wanted to see the thing that would make it all possible, aside from Lord-based donations from his flock. He rose up quickly from his seat, leaned forward to scoot out from behind his desk, and opened the door to his office. He marched gingerly down a hallway, an elastic lanyard that clutched a jumble of keys bouncing back and forth against his leg.
He stopped in front of a door with a sign that said, “KEEP OUT.” He unlocked the door, turned and asked me if I was ready, and then opened the door with a mixture of deference and pride.
“This…” he said, almost in awe, as a pile of guns, another of ammunition, and another of what looked to be the elements of rudimentary bombs appeared before us. He blushed, apologizing for the disorganization and “giant mess.”
“When the Deep State starts closing in, me and my lieutenants will rig the whole place, and just before they close in on us, we’ll blow the whole compound up. And everyone in it,” he said, closing his eyes and looking up at the ceiling.
After an uncomfortably long time looking skyward, even beginning to breathe deeply and at a psychotically slow pace, Duncan looked down and over at us. He opened his eyes as if coming out of a trance.
“Wanna get a burger? They just opened a Cali Burger down the street! My treat,” he said looking at us sideways and with raised eyebrows.
At Cali Burger, between big, hurried bites of food, Duncan said that he was also considering being the face of a line of bowel-health -related dietary supplements.
“Ultimately–even before sex with underage girls–what I really care about is money. Because if I have enough of it, I don’t have to bother with all the pressures of running my own cult. I can just buy sexual experiences, really with an unlimited number of girls, women, even old ladies,” he said, winking at me as he said the last part.
I got up from my seat across from him at Cali Burger, made up an excuse about just remembering something I had to do, and managed to plaster a smile on my face and swallow my own vomit as I shook hands with Duncan.
“You sure you don’t wanna finish your fries?” Duncan said. “Suit yourself–more for me!” he said with an impish grin.
As I drove home, Hannah Arendt’s iconic book subtitle slapped me across my mind-face: “The Banality of Evil.”
We should note however that Duncan, compared to Arendt’s description of Adolf Eichmann as an embodiment of the banality of evil, was a character with discernible and describable personality traits. Eichmann, when he was on trial in Jerusalem for orchestrating the murder six million Jews and others in Nazi Germany during the Holocaust, was the definition of banal–insipid, vacuous, even boring. He was fastidious in personal presentation, a rule follower, and a scrupulous checklist-keeper.
Also: Life imitates art at the WH–in this case, Mean Girls.
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© 2018 Akbar Khan
