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Deep inside The Fortress of Socialism, Bernie Sanders’ top-secret underground laboratory in Vermont, the old man himself paces wildly back and forth, his hair making Einstein’s jealous. His team has all gone home for the night, leaving his rambling phrases to echo off the large walls of the empty chamber. Half the conversation is happening in his head and the other half is happening in his mouth.

“Gotta find – way – every person – medical attention – education.” He pushes over a small domino and a large track of them, standing back to back, begin to tumble. He watches them tip. “No reason – can’t have it. Money not everything.”

The dominoes unfold into a picture of a Vermont landscape. Bernie made this. It’s beautiful. He stares at it and kicks a few of the dominoes. His ideas, like his suits, were too big. The tiny brains of the American people weren’t yet ready for it. Not yet. Not from him. But soon. Oh, yes. Very soon.

Bernie had learned a lot when he created Melania Trump. He built her from spare blender parts, a few pieces from a 2006 Dodge pickup truck and six alarm clocks. That’s it. He threw a garbage bag over her robotic skeleton, taped a picture of Caitlyn Jenner to the face-area and allowed everyone to see exactly what they wanted to see – a thing of true and absolute beauty.

That’s half the trick, you know. Just let people see what they want. He learned that one from Trump and it’s a good one.

Bernie strolls over to the iso-chamber and flips a switch. Three iron, air-tight doors open up, releasing a hiss of gas, revealing two bodies that have been cryogenically frozen. The third chamber is empty.

The first tube contains the body of JFK, bullet hole and all. His face is blue and puffy but still somehow stoic. Tubes funnel the DNA of JFK to the second container where Bernie’s pet project grows. And, he sees for himself, is growing quite beautifully.

Bernie enters the third chamber and quietly leans into the slanted back panel. He places a comically oversized helmet on and shuts his eyes. Immediately he begins to feel his thoughts and emotions trickle out of his physical form and into the physical form of he and JFK’s genetically superior offspring.

Bernie opens his eyes and tilts his head to the side, observing his creation. The Creation will have his brains and his ideas but the young vigor, articulation and charm of a Kennedy.

The word “socialism” will be wiped from his vocabulary. The word scared a lot of people. There was too much emotional baggage with it. People heard “socialism” and instead of hearing the actual definition, they heard a definition that they’d made up in their heads. They believed that socialism and communism were the same thing. They also believed that communism was something that Russians did. They also believed that Russians were cold and evil people. Stalin. Putin. Socialism had a bad street name, like alcohol during prohibition. It just needed a little rebirth on its branding.

And this was going to be the marketing move of the century.

Yes. The Creation would inherit the genes of JFK and the brains of Bernie. The Creation has beautiful skin. Is good looking. Has neat hair. His suits fit. And he has the same ideas that Bernie does.

Bernie starts to smile. Smirks.

“The people don’t want a tyrant to rule them with an iron fist. They are innocent sheep and they need a caring shepherd to coax them with the staff away from the slaughter-house.

Bernie had long ago accepted that he would not have his day in The Oval Office. But his ideologies might.

And that would make America great again.

He glances down at the name-plate on the iso-chamber. It reads:

Joe Kennedy.


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