Satire

The Dossier
“Not the sharpest tool in the shed, am I?” Billie Eilish handed Elon a folder. “And don’t think about destroying it. It’s just a copy.”
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in Fiction
Nailed. Content Warning.
The nail in the foyer was already bending under the weight of my failures, which would have been poetic if it weren’t a structural hazard. Penny nail, roofing nail, some kind of nail, I never learned the terminology.
By Fatal Serendipity12 months ago in Fiction
The Whistleblower
Elon felt stupid wearing a white muscle shirt, jean shorts, and a baseball cap, especially in November, but the person behind the text message had told him not to dress like himself to avoid getting recognized. Like anyone in Middle-of-Nowhere, Northern California would recognize him anyway.
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in Fiction
All's Fair is an Awful Show
I think this is perhaps one of the worst shows ever made. Or perhaps the worst show ever made. I wonder if Ryan Murphy is really running out of ideas. Ever since he started his stupid true crime TV show franchise, I feel that he has gone off the deep end.
By Emy Quinn12 months ago in Fiction
Busted
“You had Trump shut down DOGE eight months early?” Elon demanded of his lookalike. “How did you even do that? He only obeys me!”
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in Fiction
Dark Meat
“You have done well managing my X account the past month,” Elon told the lookalike. “Thank you.” “With posts like these, the far right will be against nonwhite and immigrants in no time.”
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in Fiction
Soylent Us
“Wait,” the remain Elon lookalike said, “I have a proposal. You return home…later. First, though, you help us take over Earth so that we can send resources to our home planet.”
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in Fiction
Help Me Carry This To My Head
In the heart of a bustling market, where traders shout and feet shuffle in haste, a lone voice rises above the chaos. "Help Me Carry This To My Head! Help Me Carry This To My Head!" Foolish sits on the ground, knees pointed skyward, right hand raised in desperation. In front of him, a massive excavator bucket, filled to the brim with sand, towers toward the heavens. The weight of it is impossible, yet he refuses to lift even a handful. Lyard, a passerby, stops and stares. With one hand on her hip, she asks, “Carry what, Foolish?” "The sand, the excavator, the caterpillar… Help me carry it to my head!" Lyard sighs, shaking her head. "And how do you plan to do that? Have you even tried to lift some with your hands?" Foolish grins. "A handful? No! I want it all at once!" Passersby chuckle, shaking their heads. Some pause, amused by the absurdity. Others move on, indifferent to his cries. But Foolish remains, shouting, waiting… convinced that help will come. A gripping tale of misplaced effort, blind determination, and the irony of self-help. What happens when help finally arrives—only for Foolish to realize it’s too late? Will he rise, or will he remain trapped by his own stubbornness? Find out in Help Me Carry This To My Head, a powerful new work by Kalebe Kossi Numedo. Now published by The Dee Emergence. Follow The Dee Emergence on all social media platforms – YouTube, Facebook, Instagram. Because sometimes, the biggest burden… is refusing to lift yourself. (Final echo: “Help Me Carry This To My Head…” as the screen fades to black.)
By Kalebe Kossi Numedo12 months ago in Fiction
Fetterman's Wake
I'm the kind of asshole who would hold his own wake just to see what those closest — and not so closest — to me would say. To see if they'd even turn up. Ego, ego, ego; dies at death, or is it reborn and energized?
By Paul Stewart12 months ago in Fiction
The New Leader
The pair of Elon lookalikes charged into the bunker and ran straight for the cryochamber. It was empty, the door wide open.
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in Fiction
Planned Deceit
“Continue to deny any claims that xAI has raised $15 billion,” the new Elon said to another lookalike. “We do not need the humans knowing how much funding our artificial intelligence is receiving.”
By Stephanie Hoogstad12 months ago in Fiction
Shadows of the City. AI-Generated.
The streets were wet from a light evening rain, the kind that made the neon lights shine brighter but also made the whole city feel colder and more empty. Ren walked slowly with his hands in his pockets, his coat collar pulled up against the mist hanging around the streetlamps. He didn’t know why he was wandering like this, only that something was pulling him forward. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was guilt. Either way, his feet kept taking him deeper into alleys he didn’t remember ever walking through.
By William Ebden.12 months ago in Fiction