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Spiraling Mike Pence Escapes Meal-Time Temptress

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Fordham University

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Spiraling Mike Pence Escapes Meal-Time Temptress

A recovered diary entry from VP Pence reveals all

Keith Rose

4.23.18

Read time: 8 min.
Graphics by Molly Brodowski

The Rival’s own intelligence commission recently uncovered a diary entry by Vice President Mike Pence. We will now post this diary entry in its unaltered entirety for the viewing public to freely interpret.
What is written may seem odd to the reader unaware of Pence’s evangelical religiosity. As a reminder, Mike Pence never eats alone with a woman other than his wife (I strongly urge the reader to check out the link if this information is new). This statement is often revisited since Pence became VP, and draws polarized critiques from a divided union. On the right, conservative media pundits claim Pence is righteously interpreting the good book, and the liberal media backlash is just another prime example of the disconnect between elitists and common America. On the left, people are like, “What the fucking shit? Dude, It’s just lunch!”
Now, without further ado:
----------------
Monday,
April 23, 2018
Dear Diary:
Today I write thee with trembling hands. My faith, tossed into the fiery pits of temptation and lust, has resurfaced yet not unscathed. God willing, the Holy Trinity – the son, the spirit, and the Billy Graham – granted me the power to refuse the worldly desires thrusted upon me without the accompaniment of my shield and spiritual warrior: Mother. That is what I call my wife, Mother, and there is nothing weird nor medieval about that. It is actually a very endearing term used by many normal people from this time period, the uhh 19, 20-something century. Anyways…

It happened like this:
A typical Monday, I awake in my chambers like every other morning, with one hand clenching my Bible and my other hand playfully teasing my muse: The Encyclopedia of American Conservatism. Nothing excites me quite like flipping through pages of fiscally responsible policies coupled with controls on Women’s bodies. In an act of divine intervention, Mother could not join me for lunch at the Capitol Café, for she must answer her calling to teach Elementary age children about the endless tortures of Hell that await bad kids who do not raise their hand.
So, I grab a crustless Turkey sandwich and enjoy my daily banter with the service. “Salt and pepper on that Mr. Vice President?” I shrug off the suggestion with a laugh, “Oh I wish kind sir, but Mother says I need to lower my salt intake... hmmm, you know what, I am feeling a little wild,” I scan the line for any sign of my dearly beloved, “spread some of that yummy frankincense and myrrh on my bread, but don’t tell Mother! ;p” I skip towards an empty table. I remember thinking – this is going to be nice. I could either reread Corinthians for the fourth time this week, or perhaps finally look at that Tax Bill that has everybody in a tizzy. Although a real toss-up, I pull out my Bible and prepare to read it in the most attention-drawing manner possible, hoping to finally show Donald the light.

Yet, as if Satan was playing puppet master, at the very moment I sit down, a woman I have never seen before sits directly across from me at the same table. My body freezes, teeth clench, and my brow drips with the sweat of a thousand missionaries trekking across... What is that place called again, Gomorrah? Timbuktu? Pangea? - no, those last two don't sound real. Africa? Oh, yeah that's it, Africa. Dear God, my heart was beating so fast and my brain was thrust into such a conundrum that I only barely dodged a simultaneous heart attack and brain aneurysm.
Then, the demon spoke: “Hello Vice President Pence, lovely day we are having! Weather really turned around the past few days.”
Scared, I utter a response: “Y-y-yes weather good. I read, uhm I-I read Bible now.”
I tear open the pages of the good book and glue my eyes to the holy words before me, clinging onto my sanctity by a mere thread. I know I must be proactive. I must tell this temptress off before she worms her way into my brain and acts upon my desires. Yet, the wicken has already made her way into my head. She makes the first move.
She inserts her fork into a particularly voluptuous and moist slice of cucumber. Then, with hellfire in her eyes, she looks up from her meal and makes direct eye contact with me. Woah. The catacombs of my soul are at her disposal. As she brings the fruit to her lips, it escapes the fork’s pierce, falling onto the plate. “Oops.” She stabs it again, harder, spraying the cucumber juice all over the nearby produce - sweet Jesus. Then, she acts in the most intimate and pornographic manner I have ever witnessed in a public space. She brings the fruit to her lips, while still staring into my soul, she slurps down the cucumber slice and returns to her reading, AS IF IT WAS NOTHING!
God was with me on this day, for if He was not holding me back by my suit jacket, I would have no power to reject the desires before me. I knew I had to make a move; once she finished the cucumber slices, she would move on to olives, perhaps even carrots, at which point Satan himself would catapult me upon the sinful acts waiting before me. In another act of psyche mind manipulation, the temptress has read my thoughts and reaches to take a an adulterous sip from her glass of water. Oh heavens, it is now or never Pence!
Shouting through trembling lips, I make my stand: “YOU ARE NOT MOTHER!”

My cry is so loud, the smashing hammer of God’s infinite wisdom so powerful, that the temptress is left physically shocked. Her glass of water slips from her hand and spills – dampening the part of her blouse that covers her, uhm, torso-womanhood. I immediately begin weeping; the battle has been lost. I toss away the chair from under me. Now on both of my knees, I spread my arms wide and look to the heavens for forgiveness. “I can abstain no more, do what you must, you sex demon!”
Just as I forfeit to her most forward advance, she stands up, looking mystified and scared, and leaves the Café. I dry my tears, stand up and resituate my necktie. I must return to my chambers for immediate reflection.“How was that turkey sandwich Vice President Pence?” the service asks as I rush out. Through tears and spittle, I manage to squeak a muted response, “I didn’t *sniff* get to *sniff sniff* eat it.”

Oh Diary, why has God tempted me this way? I have done nothing but righteously follow your word. Did the gays do this? Can I blame this on the gays? Oh what's the use… I miss the good ol’ days. Life was so much simpler and holier at mankind's conception, when women stayed home with the kids while men hunted and rode dinosaurs. If only I could go back to my youth. Golly, if Mother could have seen me in the Summer of ‘76. Those were the times. One day I was rollin’ with the youth pastors, the next I was patrollin’ with the hall monitors. “Sorry Miss, If you don't have a pass, you need to get back to class.” Yeah… but those days are over. I turn 59 in a couple months. 59. I have done so well for myself, but sometimes, just sometimes, I think much of my political success came at a spiritual price. Jesus walked amongst the poor, yet I shake hands with the elites.

For Christ’s sake Pence, what are you even saying? Pull yourself together. Sure, God tempted me, much like He tested Abraham - and what did Abraham do? In an act to show his undying loyalty to God,
Abraham bravely strapped his child down to a stump, lifted an axe to his shoulder, and gallantly prepared to slice the boy in half. Yet, just as Abraham tightened his grip on the axe, God intervened and stopped him from committing the terrible deed. That’s it! It's so clear - God has acted upon my life just as He did upon Abraham’s. I am Abraham, Abraham is Pence. But… I must ask, did I prove my loyalty to God as profoundly as Abraham did? Have I proven myself loyal beyond deniability? What if God, like, thinks Abraham is totally way more pious than me? Hmmm…. Where is my axe?