The NSA is watching everyone? I figured as much. That’s because everything, if you think about it, everything and everyone is Al Qaeda. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks at work, and I realized I had to warn the public…but isn’t the public also Al Qaeda?
What a quandary. What an unabashedly difficult conundrum. What a quagmire. ‘Quagmire’ is, of course, the French term for Al Qaeda, called Le Quagmire, a term used by a gamer I heard about called Battling Goozer. According to the Urban Dictionary, ‘goozer’ is Persian for ‘fart’. And as science will ultimately prove, anything Persian is Al Qaeda, even Persian rugs, which are woven from kittens while they’re still alive.
And I had to use PowerPoint, but I didn’t know how. Shiva’s beans! Why? Because I lived in a cave. I’d been living the dream, but I woke up…to a nightmare. At least my descendants will know the truth.
I devised an infallible metric, a coveted algorithm that proves beyond any doubt that everything is four degrees from Al Qaeda. The fourth degree, in fact, is one hundred ten percent Al Qaeda. That means we are actually only three degrees separated from Al Qaeda – the fourth degree is just an extra helping of Raosted Lies. Eat up. The fact that we are actually only separated by our affiliation with Al Qaeda by three degrees is the horror show I must face down every night when I cry myself to sleep upon my standard issue mewling kitten rug in my cave, eating dust and ketchup sandwiches in the dark, wishing I was in Florida having a pressed sandwich and a Cafe Con Lechuga.
So, in defiance of my superiors – obviously terrorists, you can tell by the Ugly Christmas Sweaters – over the course of three years, I painstakingly assembled the evidence against humanity, against a vast conspiracy that reaches into the very eyes of newborn children and sucks the happy out of them with a bendy straw. I surrender.
Please be careful not to break my wrists when you string me up. I have some very painful bone growths and I would rather you not bandy about with a confession. I’ll confess, I’m weak: My back hair is Al Qaeda. There, I said it, but that is where I draw the line. The back hair is from Shaitan, but the facial hair is strictly good American hair. Old-fashioned and delicious.
My chin strap beard loudly proclaims I sprouted from Christian loins, like a flower. I bloom for the ages.
“No,” said the priest, “you don’t need to accept everything as true, you only have to accept it as necessary.” “Depressing view,” said K. “The lie made into the rule of the world.”
― Franz Kafka, The Trial
My very first Powerpoint, aimed at the heart of evil like a trident forged in the fiery heart of a thousand lunch breaks.
Fifty State Banana 
