Mama, we’re meant for the flies.
His boots kicked up dirt as he shuffled through the ridge, musket slung over his shoulder. The large boulders that lined the narrow passage on both sides were cool even when the air was thick and hot. Cannons blasted in the distance and with each crack, his heart beat faster.
It was 1865.
Wait. No, it wasn’t.
America froze in his tracks because he remembered.
He remembered dying.
Continue reading “The Five Countries You Meet in Hell”
(Read the prologue)
My jaw throbbed and I tasted blood on my tongue. Hair fell into my face when I met China’s steely eyes with a white-hot glare.
“That hurt, you little shit.” Except he was far from little. Nearly my height, he was lean and built like a mannequin in an Abercrombie & Fitch.
Continue reading “MAGA: Let’s Own That Commie Cuck”
Orange and pink painted the horizon as clouds rolled along the tops of skyscrapers. I took a drag on my cigarette then tossed back the rest of my liquor. From my penthouse balcony, I watched the sun set on my empire. Every bank, every government office, every important building as far as the eye could see had my flag, my mark, on it somewhere–the front door, the marble tiled lobbies, the very tops so first-class passengers could see, even on the goddamn urinals sometimes.
That’s how it used to be, anyway.
Continue reading “MAGA: Blood Grudge”
The MAGA Chronicles is a new series that takes you on a journey with Trump’s America, where narcissism and depravity know no bounds.
I never wanted to hurt my sister, but the monster must die.
My hurried footsteps echo against the walls of the bare corridor in time with my heartbeat. Lights flicker overhead. An alarm wails in the distance, but I’m not afraid of what’s coming. Having made love to many, many beautiful countries just before arriving here, all at once, I’m invigorated–and out for blood.
Continue reading “The MAGA Chronicles: Globalism is for Cucks”