Alexandria sat in her small hovel, a tiny, dingy studio apartment in a dingy neighborhood of Washington D.C. But she didn’t mind. She was too busy, poring over books like Socialism for Dummies and “Let’s Get This Bread” by Pyotr Krumpingtown.

It was in this moment that she heard a bawdy rapping at her door. She rose, her supple body wrapped in only Kirkland-brand sweatpants and a Breakfast Club t-shirt.

“Who is it?” she asked, socialistly.

“MS. OCASIO-CORTEZ, MA’AM, I INSIST YOU MUST DEBATE ME!” cried an impish voice from the other side of the door. Of course, it was Bencil Sharperino, or “Ben Shapiro” as his nickname was, back from the 3rd time this week. Previously, he had stopped her on the street to ask her if “those sugar tits were on the free market” and had stalked her to lunch, shaming her for wearing pants that appeared to cost more than $2.

Alexandria undid the multiple locks on her door deftly and opened the door, a confident smirk upon her socialist face.

“You wanna debate me? Fine…come on in and I’ll show you all about seizing the means of REproduction.”

Ben gulped, the golf-ball his adam’s apple had been surgically replaced with travelling up and down his birdlike neck. Sweat poured from his brow like money poured into the pockets of everyday Americans thanks to trickle-down economics.

“MISS CORTEZ! I-I am only asking to trade amongst the marketplace of ideas, my good lady!” He squeaked. His crotch throbbed—though no one could tell from looking due to no visible difference, he had a boner.

Alexandria raised an eyebrow coyly, looking him up and down. “I’m sure you do…” She grabbed him by the lapel, pulling him into her apartment.

TO BE CONTINUED