August 3rd, 2026
The indecipherable monolith haunting the Santa Monica Promenade turned supportive last month, with the arrival of Vice-President JD Vance. Here to promote his new book on his conversion to Catholicism, JD found himself wandering the street after accidentally locking himself out of the Barnes & Noble he was scheduled to appear at. Discovering that his Secret Service detail had blocked his number, the future presidential candidate had no choice but to kill time until his armored convey returned from the local Shake Shack.
His initial plan was to peruse the Interior Define furniture store, but to his shock he found it closed. “Someone’s got to do something about this economy,” he muttered under his breath.
Seeing the happy, smiling families all around him, JD could not help but feel a deep sadness encroaching as he wondered what his life could have looked like if Usha and his children actually loved him and wanted to spend time with him outside of magazine photoshoots.
Just as he was giving up on finding a suitable homeless person to kick, he came across the supersized face of one of his closest confidants. As he reached to caress Stephen’s bald head – as he always does – Vance was shocked to see the image move, reaching down to cradle his head and fix his bowl cut.
“There, there JD, you don’t need a family like them,” said the poster, “you’ve got to focus on destroying this city by killing all the tourists and making everyone poorer.”
Before JD could question why Mr. Miller was so passionate about ruining his own community, the figure brushed a holographic finger to his lips; “everyone loves your new book, even if the cover is of the wrong kind of church. We need more good, white, Christian men with good, whi-, I mean Chris-, well, at least you have a wife for now.”
JD was just about to ask if Erica Kirk would be a more electable pick when he spotted a Barnes & Noble employee hurrying back from break, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the man mesmerized by a wall. JD gave Stephen one last headrub as he scuttled after her, using his experience making women uncomfortable to slip back inside the bookstore.
By Baker Jones