American Soccer: GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL

you asked for it, you got it, more Ben Shapiro/AOC fan fic: “C’mon, just let me say it once. Just once,” Charlie’s slimy voice echoed through the labyrinthine halls of TPUSA HQ.

“For the last time, no,” said Candace, “we’ve talked about this,”

“But ‘the pass’ is the only thing that my daddy’s money can’t buy for me. And you’re my only black friend, so-“

“We are not friends. And for the last time, ‘the pass’ doesn’t exist.”

“Well I say we’re friends. You know what, I’m just gonna say it. Here I go... N-“

Ben opened the door to the office, interrupting Charlie’s proclamation.

“Oh hey Ben,” said Charlie, “happy you could make it to picture day. Anyway Candice, I just made a stinky, so......”

Candice sighed and put down her phone. There was a mostly-finished tweet in progress on the screen: Y’know, Hitler wasn’t that bad of a guy. The only reason anyone doesn’t like him is because he was a socialist. There is no other reason that smart people disagree with Hitl...

“Charlie, you always do this,” said Ben, “as soon as someone doesn’t let you say a racial slur, you ‘make a stinky’ and ask them to clean you up. It’s happened 3 times this week already. That’s just facts and logic, buddy.” But Charlie had already led Candace out into the hallway, a victorious grin on his tiny face.

It had been 2 weeks since Ben’s fight with Tucker. 2 weeks of leveraging the combined oil-billionaire-provided resources of The Daily Wire and Turning Point USA in his attempts to find AOC. It had become hard to concentrate on talking louder and faster than college students and then declaring victory in the “debate”, an activity that usually brought Ben so much joy.

Ben snapped out of his reverie and remembered that as Charlie had said, it was indeed picture day. An intern was setting up a tripod in the corner of the office. “Okay Ben, this tripod doesn’t let us hold the camera low enough to take a picture of you, so you’re gonna need to stand on some of these books,” she said.

Ben stepped up onto a 3-book-high stack of The Right Side of History, his own book. He had bought a dozen copies to give to his friends, but after Charlie, Candace, a few other conservative “intellectuals”, and his parents got copies he couldn’t think of anyone else to give them to. At least here they were being put to good use.

Picture day was one of Ben’s favorite regular TPUSA events. He didn’t have to think, which was hard for him, just look smug, which was his greatest strength. “His ideas” would be added later in red and blue text by a team of interns educated at PragerU, the most prestigious YouTube-based university.

Picture day progressed as usual:

Hold up the sign, point at the sign, smirk, the camera flashes.

Cross arms, smirk, the camera flashes.

Hold up a copy of the Affordable Care Act, light a match, smirk, the camera flashes.

Build an effigy of Hilary Clinton out of copies of the Communist Manifesto, swing an axe, smirk, the camera flashes.

Pick up an American girl doll that looks a little like AOC, hold it close to you, stroke its feet, ignore the confused look of the intern behind the camera, smirk, hold this position until the camera finally flashes. Ask the intern for a copy of that one.

Ben knew that some of these pictures would be deemed too extreme by the interns and would be used more rarely, because unfortunately, most of the interns were still in the process of learning that nothing in this world matters except for smirking more confidently than everyone else and thereby being the smartest person in the room.