Wake Up and Open Your Eyes

by Clay McLeod Chapman

And who are you, Noah Fairchild? I, Anderson Cooper, want to know.

Gee, Marcus, I didn’t mean to saw your ma’s head off. Sorry, big guy…No hard feelings?

After you, Anderson, you think. Don’t get saucy with me, young man…I’m only here because your mind needs company.

No—thank God. Go ahead and say it with a capital G, Noah.

“Who’d you vote for?” Mrs. Sharpshooter asks. “Excuse me?” “The last election. Which candidate?” You take a closer look and almost immediately you can sense it. The awkwardness in the way they hold their weapons. These people never picked up a gun before today.

they chat without realizing they could accidentally take each other’s heads off with an errant sneeze. It’s a miracle they didn’t shoot you. Democrats.

It’s every Democrat for themselves out

here. Survival of the leftist. You know you’re next if you don’t keep running.

Anderson Cooper, you fucking Judas.