“MAGAstein Unleashed: A Grotesque Little Political Fable for the Terminally Bewildered”

By Bear Howard

Sedona, AZ — In the damp, mold-scented basement of American democracy—right between the broken sump pump and a stack of unfiled subpoenas—the Mad Scientist cackled over his greatest creation. Sparks flew, thunder cracked, and a raccoon in the corner reconsidered its life choices.

“YES! LIVE, MY BEAUTIFUL CREATURE! LIIIIIIVE!”

And with that dramatic flourish known only to washed-up magicians and certain presidents, he flipped the switch.

The lights dimmed.

The earth trembled.

A red baseball cap flickered to life like a demonic night-light.

MAGAstein had risen.

This creature was no ordinary monster. No, this one was stitched together from raw grievances, half-baked conspiracy theories, expired patriotism, and the kind of rage you get when the McDonald’s ice-cream machine is “mysteriously” broken again. Lightning surged through his limbs, powered by equal parts resentment and barbecue sauce.

The Mad Scientist puffed out his chest. “At last! A beast made of pure loyalty! It shall obey my every command!”

The villagers (formerly known as “the rest of us”) were less enthusiastic.

But the real trouble began when MAGAstein developed a taste for justice—or at least the creature’s unique brand of “justice,” which involves shouting like a malfunctioning leaf blower whenever rich and powerful elites get caught behaving like, well… rich and powerful elites.

And nothing—NOTHING—agitates the creature more than the scent of billionaires behaving badly around vulnerable children. MAGAstein can sniff that stuff out like a bloodhound with a law degree and anger-management issues.

Which brings us to the Epstein Files—those mysterious, maddening documents the White House is frantically trying to bury deeper than Jimmy Hoffa and the Ark of the Covenant combined.

“Nothing to see here!” the Mad Scientist shrieks, slapping duct tape over every cabinet with an enthusiasm usually reserved for hostage-takers and nervous dads at Home Depot.

But MAGAstein?

Oh, he sees.

He smells.

He feels the tremor of hypocrisy the way sharks sense blood miles away.

And suddenly, the creature’s eyes glow with the righteous fury of a blue-collar guy who’s been told for the third time this month that billionaires need yet another tax cut.

“RRRRAAAAAGH!” bellows MAGAstein. “ELITES BAD! CHILD-HURTING ELITES WORSE!”

The Mad Scientist, sweating through three layers of self-tanner, waves his arms frantically. “No! No, my child! Those are my elites! Those are the elites who go to my parties! My golf clubs! My secret island friend’s little black book! You mustn’t question THEM!”

But monsters built from grievance are notoriously hard to housebreak.

You can train them to fetch votes.

You can teach them to chant slogans.

You can even get them to attack your enemies with the reliability of a caffeinated Roomba.

But once they start questioning the master’s own… extracurriculars?

Suddenly it’s Frankenstein Meets the Internal Revenue Service.

MAGAstein is confused, agitated, and beginning to connect dots the scientist desperately wishes were never printed.

Lightning cracks again.

The laboratory shakes.

Somewhere in the distance, democracy peeks around the corner, horrified but not entirely surprised.

And the villagers?

They gather, whispering:

“Is the monster about to turn on him?”

“Probably.”

“Should we get popcorn?”

“Oh definitely.”

Because the oldest lesson in monster-making still applies:

If you build a creature out of rage against the powerful…

…and you, yourself, spend a suspicious amount of time being the powerful…

Eventually, inevitably, and usually at the worst possible moment—

the creature stops obeying the lightning switch.

And in that final scene, the Mad Scientist stands alone in the lab, frantically pressing buttons, screaming, “HEEL! HEEL, I SAY!”

But MAGAstein is already smashing his way out the door, roaring for justice, vengeance, and maybe a Mountain Dew.

And for the first time, the villagers aren’t the ones running.

It’s the scientist.