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<title>The Homestuck Epilogues: Meat - Chapter 34</title>
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<div id='s34'></div>
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<h1>Chapter 34</h1>
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<div class="o-story_text o_epilogue type-rg type-sm line-caption line-copy pad-x-0 pad-x-lg pad-b-lg">
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<p class="no-indent dirk"><span class="opener type-hs-opener-rg type-hs-opener-sm">S</span>peaking of
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giving it everything you got, here comes Jake McGee, about to pop
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his pistols off in front of a whole crowd of Karkat’s progressively
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prismatic proletarian partisans.</p>
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<p class="dirk">Okay, let’s strike that bit of alliteration from
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the record. I don’t know what came over me. I probably just made
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the mistake of getting too close to the gaping black hole that
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radiates pure asininity from the space between Jake’s ears. His
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event horizon of buffoonery has the dual effect of making
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everything around him slightly lamer while sucking unsuspecting
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victims into wanton sexual indiscretions, which, if you’re very
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lucky, you’ll be too drunk to even remember. But, well, look at
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him: how can you <em>not</em> fuck this guy? I mean, I’m never
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going to fuck him again, but I bet there’s a good chance that
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<em>you</em> want to. Don’t even try to say you don’t, cause no
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one’s buying it. After all, that’s what this entire election is
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about to boil down to—decisions made based on the primal
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fuckability of the dumbest asshole on Earth.</p>
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<p class="dirk">The crowd is all in a tizzy waiting for Jake to
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sashay his famous ass back up to the podium. It was quite
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melodramatic, that little assassination fakeout I staged. It might
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have even inadvertently jumped the Vantas campaign in the polls. Of
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course, I’d never do something so stupid as turn Karkat Vantas into
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a martyr. God, could you imagine? The last time some incompetent
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asshole with his blood color bumbled his way into a tragically
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symbolic death, the entire troll race spent half a millennium
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stroking themselves off to it until they were convinced hearing the
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word “fuck” could trigger spontaneous enlightenment. No thanks.
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Jake’s going to put an end to Karkat’s political career with the
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level of gravitas it deserves—all the pomp and circumstance of a
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wet fart.</p>
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<p class="dirk">Here comes the man of the hour. He stops at the
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base of the stage. Adjusts his bow tie. Rolls the hemline on his
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shorts up another notch to show off the top quarters of his finely
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tuned and greased vastus lateralis muscles. He slides the
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endorsement speech Dave has so considerately prepared for him out
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of his front pocket. I let him read it over one more time even
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though there’s nothing in the universe that could possibly matter
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less.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="dave">DAVE: yo</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: sure you still want to do this</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: YEAH. IT’S NOT TOO LATE TO CALL IT
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OFF.</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: BY WHICH I MEAN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING
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COMEDY OF ERRORS THAT DAVE PREPOSTEROUSLY INSISTS ON CALLING A
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“CAMPAIGN.”</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: OR HOW ABOUT THE ELECTION ITSELF? WE CAN
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PUT THE KIBOSH ON THAT TOO IF YOU WANT.</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: IF YOU’RE FEELING UNCOMFORTABLE JAKE,
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JUST SAY THE WORD. WE’LL STICK A PRONGSHOVEL IN THE WHOLE DEAL AND
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GO HOME.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">Dave elbows him.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: OR. YOU KNOW. JUST YOUR SPEECH.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Dont be daffy chaps. If i were the sort of
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man to balk at a bit of hot potato in the evening i wouldnt be
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where i am today!</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">Dave and Karkat exchange a <em>look</em>.
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They don’t stop him, though, because a plan is a plan. Jake spins
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on his heel and goes swaggering up toward the podium, grinning
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cheek to cheek at the familiar sound of a crowd chanting his name.
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He sets his speech down and smooths out the paper only to find his
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hands swamped with sweat.</p>
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<p class="dirk">What’s that, Jake? You didn’t notice your hands
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were sweating until now? Not surprising considering how overtaxed
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your precious few neurons are at any given time.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="jake">JAKE: I... I... er hallo folks dandy weather were
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having here isnt it.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">Jake’s hands are so sweaty they’ve
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smeared the words in the speech beyond recognition. He begins to
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panic.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Er... thank you... everyone for coming out on
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this benjo of a day to um...</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Do whatever it is that weve all congregated
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to do!</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">At the bottom of the stage, Karkat and
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Dave put their heads together in adorably platonic conspiratorial
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kinship. Karkat whispers directly into the shell of Dave’s ear. I
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don’t even have to direct him to do that, it’s just his natural
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inclination to practically stick his tongue straight to the center
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of Dave’s skull, while practicing a bit of perfectly harmless,
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nonsexual, intimate close-talking. Jesus, if I have to watch one
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more minute of this beta-bitch calamity I’m going to fucking
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dissipate on an atomic level.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (WHAT IS HE DOING? I SAW HIM REREAD THE
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SPEECH.)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (yeah)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (idk he does this public speaking shit every
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day maybe this is just how he warms a crowd up)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (lets give him a... hm)</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (DAVE?)</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (ARE YOU OK.)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (oh im fine)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (for a moment something felt... off?)</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (AGAIN???)</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (WHAT, IS THE ASSASSIN GOING TO TAKE HIM
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OUT AFTER ALL???)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (no its not that)</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Its wonderful to see such a jammy cornucopia
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of supporters!</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: By golly the lot of you sure are enthusiastic
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about that karkat chap.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Which means that we potentially have a few
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things in common since ive come here to...</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: To... to...</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Ive come to...</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">Jake tugs at collar. It feels tight,
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suddenly. He’s dripping buckets down under his suspenders. Dark
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patches are starting to form on his dress shirt.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Rather that is to say,</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: In delicate times such as these,</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Even though usually its a toffer of a bad
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idea to talk politics in public,</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Today we have all most certainly gathered
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here,</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: T-to have what is definitely a political
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conversation.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Y-yes that d-does seem to... be the lay of
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the land.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Th-that ive come here to... tell you all
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about my political opinions...</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Which I will get to um shortly and with er
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minimal... verbal bricabrac...</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: B-because I—</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: I...</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">He’s trembling so hard he begins to worry
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that the crowd can hear it, like the sound of somebody shaking a
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soda can filled with coins. He goes pale as the depravity of what
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he’s about to do hits him like an eighteen-wheeler.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Ive... made a terrible mistake.</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">Hey, Jake. Don’t undersell yourself here.
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You’ve made <em>several</em> terrible mistakes, especially as of
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late. One might even say that you’ve made a <em>shit ton</em> of
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them, and that’s just this fucking week. Or, if you’d prefer, a
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rusted jalopy stuffed to the whirlygigs with gum feculence, or
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whatever inept combination of archaic word garbage will help
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underline the sheer level of personal failure you’ve managed to
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achieve.</p>
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<p class="dirk">Why don’t you have a good, long think about that,
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Jake.</p>
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<p class="dirk"><em>Is this really the time for a good, long
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think?</em> Jake muses to himself, actually putting a finger to his
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chin like some public domain clip art picture of a befuddled guy.
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If the crowd is confused by his rapid-cycle mood changes, they
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don’t show it. Jake’s got a bit of a day-drinking problem, which
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has been slavishly documented in the global tabloids. That’s how
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you avoid responsibility, isn’t it, Jake? You can fool your fans,
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but not yourself. The truth is that there’s a canniness to the act.
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It’s partially <em>cultivated</em>. You’re stupid, but you’re not
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nearly as stupid as you pretend to be.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="jake">JAKE: What in the devil was i thinking coming
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here?</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Why did I...?</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: I came here to...</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">... slide the biggest knife any
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motherfucker ever wielded directly into your friend Jane Crocker’s
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back?</p>
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<p class="dirk">She loves you, Jake, more than anything, and you
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toyed with her heart. And you would have guiltlessly toyed with her
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“kettle drums” too had it not been for a bit of <em>divine
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intervention</em>, let’s decide to call it.</p>
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<p class="dirk">But wait, you’re thinking. Wasn’t Jane merely
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executing a cold-blooded maneuver to rein you into the stable of
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her campaign using her body? How are you the bad guy here?</p>
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<p class="dirk">That’s true, she was trying to do that. But come
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on—she is <em>ever so much</em> less experienced than you in these
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matters, Jake, and without certain invisible guardrails in place to
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prevent it, she would have thrown herself at you again and again
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with wide-eyed, girlish wonder.</p>
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<p class="dirk">Or at least, that’s what you like to believe. That
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people can’t resist you. That you have no responsibility for their
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feelings. That everyone uses <em>you</em>. That <em>you’re</em> the
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victim. Yes, it’s <em>so unfair</em> that anyone in this universe
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or the last has ever had a single expectation of Jake English. Why
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should anyone respect your personal autonomy when you’re
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practically begging to be taken advantage of?</p>
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<p class="dirk">So tell me, Jake: which one of us is
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<em>really</em> the bad guy here?</p>
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<p class="dirk">Jake begins to tear up. He wipes his eyes with what
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he thinks is a subtle and manful feint, but everyone in the crowd
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sees what’s up. He’s trembling, feeling small and naked and raw,
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like new flesh after a scab’s been pulled away.</p>
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<p class="dirk">He’s scared. He’s <em>been</em> scared. He’s been
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running from this feeling his entire life, all because he was so
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pants-shittingly terrified of being in love with Dirk Strider. And
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why wouldn’t he be afraid? He knows what will happen when he
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finally admits it. Knows deep down that to truly love Dirk would be
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to submit to him. That’s a scary thought. It takes a certain degree
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of mental fortitude to admit that you love someone so intensely it
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could subsume your entire personality.</p>
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<p class="dirk">But Jake can see now that it’s simply how things
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were meant to be. There are leaders in this world, and there are
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followers, which is a fact that has absolutely nothing to do with
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the position one prefers in the bedroom. Jake can’t believe he’s
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wasted years denying something so elemental to his nature that it
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might as well be on the periodic fucking table.</p>
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<p class="dirk">He braces his shaking hands on the podium and tries
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to catch his breath. His mouth is filling with saliva, much like it
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does when he’s about to throw up. Or when he’s desperately,
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devastatingly aroused. Jake, are you <em>aroused</em> in public,
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thinking about your ex? And in such tight shorts.</p>
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<p class="dirk">Sorry, I’m overdoing it. That should be enough.
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Dude’s about to pop off. The words erupt from his mouth like a
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tragic, Dirkthirsty Vesuvius:</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="jake">JAKE: <em>I love dirk!</em></p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: <em>IM IN *LOVE* WITH DIRK!!!</em></p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">And to love Dirk is to obey him.</p>
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<p class="dirk">What would Dirk want him to do in this situation?
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Definitely not sell out his good and dear friend Jane for a
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loudmouthed pipsqueak who noisily transcends failure even as he
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redefines it. Do good by her, Jake. Do good by <em>me</em>.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (oh jesus fucking christ)</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Boy howdy...</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Umm.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Sorry about the hiccup there folks.</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (HICCUP???)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (smfh)</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: Ive been dealing with some personal issues as
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of late and was momentarily distracted.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: But nevermind that. I know what youve all
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come here today to hear.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: There has been quite a ruckus in the press
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these last few weeks concerning the subject of the election and
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more importantly where i stand on the candidates.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: So today id like to set the record
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straight,</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: On that matter,</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: As well as all other matters.</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: You see</p>
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<p class="jake">JAKE: *takes a deep breath*</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (oh no)</p>
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<p class="dave">DAVE: (is he about to do what i think he is)</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (WHAT??)</p>
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<p class="karkat">KARKAT: (WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING???)</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">Karkat whips his head around and sees
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Dave bolt toward the stage, his palm outstretched to stop Jake from
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doing what he thinks he’s doing. He’s fast, but not fast
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||
enough.</p>
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<p class="dirk">Jake opens his big, dumb mouth to make the only
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important contribution to the plot he ever has or ever will make in
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||
his whole sad, pointless joke of a life.</p>
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<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
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<p class="jake">JAKE: I—</p>
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</div>
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<p class="no-indent dirk">Having said that, it’s not like we’re
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going to sit around and listen to any more words come out of his
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mouth than we strictly need to. Christ Almighty, what are we,
|
||
masochists? Nah, that’s enough of that. Let’s see what John’s up
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to.</p>
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</div>
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</div>
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</body>
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</html> |