In November 3rd, 2020, Bernie Sanders became President Of The United States and threw a raging celebration party at a respectable hotel Ballroom but the kind where you’re not sure if it’s a wedding or bat mitzvah decor, that lasted well into the night as of 9:30 PM.

The Chapo Trap House, having successfully infiltrated American anaemic bloodstream of politics via soviet spying and being Bernie’s social media campaigners, accomplished their goal of the white male president disbanded their podcast and were now free to pursue their own personal projects.

“I-I do have a girlfriend! She’s just busy in DC media right now throwing rocks at crying Kamala voters! I promise!” Will Menaker, once popular host and haver of girlfriend, spluttered as he bumped into his cohost and Bernie’s senior campaign manager, Amber A’Lee Frost. “Oh Amber! You can tell them Katherine’s real!”

“Sweetie, you don’t have the Patreon money to keep up with that anymore,” Amber answered distractedly, typing away on her phone as Will tried to deny that, saying they got a cat together.

“Well, uh, now that the pod’s over and we’ve, uh, enacted socialism in the Union States of America, what’re you gonna do now?” Will took pride that they basically did this by themselves, thanks to Chapo voter fraud (large nephew identity theft) and nationalising Russian bots to undermine American democracy, obviously.

“Hm? Oh, I’ve jumped on the anti Bernie camp. Already submitted an op-ed and booked an appearance on MSNBC that if he’s so against the 1%, where are the public guillotines of the billionaire class? That’s not the socialist I illegally voted in to office. The hustle never ends, baby!” Amber announced, taking her Sanders2020 lanyard off.

“Well, I will be going on vacation with my dear beloved, from which we won’t be posting any pictures together.” Will announcer to no one in particular.

On the other side of the ballroom, Matt Christman was getting progressively drunker at the bar as he loudly lamented that a democratic socialist in the Oval Office can’t get much done if the establishment Republican and Democrat Congress are hellbent on bipartisanship on making sure no policies are effectively applied. Also because former producer Chris Wade slipped the bartender a $50 and told him to keep the tab going.

Brendan James on account of being the hottest Chapo was not legally required to attend.

Felix Biederman was at an end, schmoozing with the affluent $27 donors, lamenting Donald’s loss and how he shouldn’t be alone right now and drawing parallels between Jamie Lannister killing Aegon Targaryen and becoming the Kingslayer. From the corner of his eye, he saw his cohost and comrade in arms Virgil Texas still glued to his laptop, checking the last minute calls in made up states like Chickasaw County, Michigan. He was also the only one wearing the appropriate celebratory headgear of fluffy cat ears, along with his usual Art History professor at a community college ensemble of blazers and formal pants, at a party.

“Oh my god, he’s so cute.” Presumably heterosexual women of different ethnicities that Felix did not tell apart because he didn’t see race whispered to each other, but loudly. Like a sentence.

“Okay, fuck you guys, it’s actually illegal to discriminate against someone who can read numbers in the union of New York,” Felix rushed in to save his bro from further embarrassment before realising the ladies weren’t being ironic — and suddenly the realisation that the pod was over and if one these Bernard Brother snagged the most eligible water connoisseur in all of Brooklyn, Felix may never have a clogged toilet again.

Sure, without the pod he could devote all his time to gaming now. But what’s all those medals of honour worth if he had no one to share them over a juul hit with?

That made him feel similar to what Jamie Lannister must’ve felt when he had to separate ways with Brianne of Tarth to go back to Cersei. And Felix has thrown many a kid off a window for his gaming.

He recalled when he first met Virgil, his first impression being a pile of vests and sweater jackets wished to become a real boy. But he actually really liked Virgil, in that inexplicable way everyone does but also because he’d listen to his oral history of the Saudi monarchy power structures (not willingly), and deal with work when Felix needs his 11 hour nap. They also share a history of battling the dark unspoken battles of imgur together and that kind of shared ptsd doesn’t just go away when that site will inevitably go off the web (rest in peace). Also like, cat ears. This guy fucks.

TRAVIS SCOTT - SICKO MODE (NXSTY REMIX) torrented from soundcloud was playing, and James Adomian the Bernie Sanders double was giving an acceptance speech, and Matt was yelling at the bartenders to unionise so they wouldn’t have to deal with drunk midwesterners. Will through sheer celibacy was transforming into one of the Jons from Pod Save America. And Felix knew what he had to do.

“Yo Virgil!” Felix yelled across the room, making his way to him. His heart was pounding because his IBS was making rounds again and not because he was nervous. Everyone knows the only way to win an argument is to be the loudest, or else how do you explain Matt Christman?

Virgil looked up from his laptop and 3 separate branded water bottles. Goddamit, why is it so easy to steal valor, yet so hard to open your heart? Felix does that thing where you say what you’re thinking out loud... also known as a sentence.

“What?” Virgil asked.

“You got me fucked up. Cause when I’m with you, that’s the real me—“

“You braindead shithead,” Virgil interrupted, and Felix always did love a rhyming couplet.

“We’re married! When we’d get shitfaced and try to write the book, you thought it’d be a great idea if we got married that way we’d never be forced to snitch on each other, you dumb shit.”

Felix stopped in this tracks and he distinctly remembered giggling into Virgil’s jacket, saying he’s dressed like a groom, and googling whether you can break glass at the courthouse. Well. This certainly changes things.

“Permission to make out with my partner, real sloppy, sir?”