Yes. It’s true. Very weird.
Trump’s littler hand creeps toward 4 on the great-great-great-grandfather clock residing in Steve Bannon’s Hexagon Office, designed with the idea that Bannon needs to be “one side better than the military elite of America.” As he holds two graduate degrees and has worked in the Pentagon, Bannon knows the real truth about the different kinds of planning, bullets, dollars, people and national securities existing in this world. After a long day of cleaning up Trump’s messes—the linguistic, the ideologic, and the bodily fluids—Bannon is ready to go home and complete his robust nighttime routine.
“Four o’clock is when my day is over, just like modern Europe is over. You know, they’re in a state of post-Mediterranean whiteness, which just can’t happen here,” he said.
After discussing the role of cats in ISIS for two minutes, he abruptly rose and left the room, headed out of the White House.
He was purposefully ignoring the blue collar workers of the White House, which was made apparent when he hid behind a bush and potentially made eye contact with a front lawn gardener. As soon as we got into his car, headed to his Rock Creek Park cave, it was clear that Bannon was superior to the average human being.
He slept the whole drive home, having memorized the route, telling us while asleep, “I’m expecting to slam into at least four parked cars, four cars in motion, and four predominantly old and brown pedestrians, always knowing to follow the right path to ‘paradise.’” The expectations Bannon had laid out for himself didn’t come to fruition, as the number was six for each.
After pulling into his cave, car still running, Bannon watched Sesame Street for 8+ hours via his iPhone 8, (“China does some things right”) with an obligation to understand “the hidden jihad-culture-message promoted by queer Elmo, communist Snuffleupagus and that gay couple.”
Taking notes in crayon, he looked up about halfway through his fieldwork and stated, “I used to be like them, but then did my research online. I know I’m a better man after watching 35 seasons of this show.”
By day, it’s well known Bannon lives as a creepy, conspiracy theorizing liver-spotted toad-man, but little does the public know that by night Bannon exists as a conniving, kitten-devouring world-destroyer.
“Kittens have a soul-power charge unprecedented in the animal kingdom,” he sermonized at half past midnight.
Picking out two kittens from his herd for his nightly kitten-vodka-Reganpube-brew, he added, “This elixir keeps me young, limber, and smooth. I thank Jesus that some fellas in Hollywood informed me of the actual, correct way of using cute Kittens the God-intended way.”
Soon shoving, pouring, and dropping said ingredients into his blender, Bannon’s only home-furnishment (“I don’t need much to be happy besides the Donald doing what I say”), he plugged it into his car and turned it on, creating a green, bubbling mess.
Bannon took the top off the blender, imbibed the liquid hodgepodge before turning and stating, “I should really tell Donald about this.”
Kirby Wilhelm is a second-year sociology major whose favorite movie is Kirby Fully Loaded. You can reach them at firstname.lastname@example.org