Alex Jones Lost Episode

“Gerald, you’re fired.”

I was given the pink slip by my boss at Infowars, the biggest internet political radio show on the planet. I don’t even know what I did wrong, I certainly wasn’t caught spitting in Alex Jones’ coffee or ejaculating into it even. Even on the days that I ejaculated into it, Alex complimented me and my coffee-making skills, calling it the best cup of coffee he’s ever had.

Anyways, I packed my stuff, went home, and started life anew living off of government unemployment. After about six months of sitting at home, watching daytime television, eating cheese curds, and farting vigorously into my Lay-Z Boy, I decided to check up on my old boss, Mr. Alex Jones. I looked on his website, seeing he had just posted a new episode. I immediately clicked play and began viewing the latest installation of his right-wing program.

Alex showed up, smiling big and wide, those glistening teeth and shiny, balding head is enough to put warmth into any viewer’s heart. He sat down at his desk, his cheeky smile quickly turning into a frown. “Everyone on the internet says I have a tiny penis,” Alex remarked. Strange way to start off a show, but whatever. “My wife says I’m the biggest she’s ever had, SO GET OVER IT YOU SLIMEY LIZARD-PEOPLE.”

He spat all over his microphone, pop filter, and vintage Reagan/Bush ‘84 poster. He got out a napkin and dabbed his already sweaty head. “These lizard-people, they’re everywhere, and if we don’t do something about it they’re gonna come into our homes, fuck our wives’ tight pussies, and turn our Christian children gay.” Woah, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mr. Jones drop the f-bomb on his show. Maybe this was an editing mistake. Alex began to blubber incoherently about Hillary Clinton while spastically waving his hands. “HILLARY CLINTON, MORE LIKE HILLARY CLIT!” His face became red.

“HILLARY CLIT, MORE LIKE HILLARY SHIT!” He began banging on his desk. “BARACK OBAMA, MORE LIKE BARACK OSAMA BIN LADEN!” He began a 15-minute speech about how Obama was Bin-Laden in disguise. He held up pictures of both Obama and Bin-Laden, pointing out their similar facial features, circling them with a Santa Claus pen like the one your aunt gives you for Christmas when she doesn’t know what else to buy you and probably doesn’t love you. Jones put both pictures on his desk facing up, stood on his desk, unzipped his pants, and pissed all over the pictures while shouting “NAZI COMMIE SCUM ALIEN PIECES OF SHIT!” You could see his penis, and all I’m going to say is his wife has to be lying about him being the biggest she’s had.

Jones pulled his trousers down and took a large shit on the pictures and lit them on fire, throwing pictures of Hillary Clinton and a gay pride flag into the pile. He sat back down in his chair and continued the show while his desk caught fire. “You smell that?” Jones inquired, “It’s the smell of patriotism and straight pride.” Jones took a sip of his coffee that was seated on his now half-collapsed desk. His face had a look of disappointment as he drank his cup of joe. “Not like how it used to be made.” He shattered his cup and gave it the middle finger. The rest of his burning desk had collapsed completely at this point and he grabbed his microphone just as it happened, sitting it in his lap. I could see a blow-up Trump doll in a dark corner of the studio.

The camera zooms deep into Alex’s face as he began to grind his teeth intensely and a vein becomes visible on his head. He quickly regains composure and continued with the show. “Remember folks, whenever a celebrity dies, it’s because they have spoken out against liberal Hollywood and they don’t like it, so they poison their food and drinks or hire someone to assassinate them.” His brow furrowed. “DON’T LISTEN TO THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA,” he shouted. “THEY WANT TO SPOONFEED YOU LGBT PROPAGANDA AND TURN YOU INTO ONE OF THEM!” He gets tired of holding his microphone so he gets out of his chair, stacks up some of the remains of his desk, and balances the mic on them, then sits on the floor in front of the microphone, Indian-style.

Alex rubs his profusely sweaty head, tired from all of the chaos he’s caused. He says, “We have a special guest. Please welcome the 40th President of the United States, back from the dead, here is Ronald Reagan!” Two studio crew members slowly applaud in the background as a decaying human body that appears to be the reanimated remains of the former President limps onto the set, collapsing before he makes it into the guest seat. A crew worker runs onto the set, dragging the zombified Reagan into the guest chair and sits him upright.

Alex smiles and greets Reagan, stating that it’s nice to have him on the show as his first appearance “after being revived”. Reagan responds in a raspy voice, “My pleasure, Alex…” Mr. Jones rubs his sweaty forehead once more. “Now that you are back from the dead, your dementia seemingly cured, what are you going to do next? What are your plans as the first rebirthed U.S President?” Zombie Reagan replies, “Well, I would like to run for office once again, but they still count my two past terms even after death!” Reagan and Alex both share a laugh, and Reagan’s left eye rolls out of its socket and into his lap.

Reagan continues, “The least I can do now is publicly announce my endorsement for President Trump and the admirable work he is doing for our wonderful country.” While speaking, Reagan is reaching in his lap for his fallen eye. His decaying index finger snaps as he grips the eyeball, the broken digit dangling by what’s left of his rotting flesh. Alex offers to get his eye for him. Reagan responds with, “Nah, I’ll just leave it here for now.” Jones asks Reagan what else he’s doing these days. Reagan responds, “Well, the United States government is continuing to fund the revivals of past Presidents. Last I heard, they are pretty close to finishing up on the revival of President Lincoln. They have his brain reconstructed finally and will start the revival process soon.” Alex asks, “Is there anything they can do about the rotten flesh?”

Ronald starts looking a bit distracted. I could see it in his rotting, half-skeleton face that something was off. It was the moment Jones said “flesh” that Reagan began not feeling well. “Pardon me Alex,” Reagan spoke. “I’m just a little hungry.” It didn’t take longer than 20 seconds for him to turn into a classic zombie. Jones got up and ran around the studio. Reagan started up a chant, “Brains, flesh… Brains… Flesh…” He finally grabbed Jones by the arm, biting his hand clean off, spraying hyper-realistic blood everywhere like a yard sprinkler. Reagan chews up Jones’ severed hand before Jones unholsters his 9mm pistol, because this is America, and offed Reagan right there with a shot to the head. Reagan falls to the ground with a dull thud, blood and brain matter oozing from his head wound.

Alex turns to tend to his severed hand as the camera zooms into it, still spraying blood every which way. All of a sudden, and to this day, I cannot explain this phenomenon, but slowly, but surely, a hand began to materialize underneath the stump. It grew back into place where his previous hand was. The camera pans up to Jones’ face. His face is in full frame, closing his eyes and then opening them again, to reveal that his eyes have become black and resembling the eyes of a lizard. Jones realizes what he had revealed and quickly asks the crew to cut the cameras as the shot cuts away, just a split-second after what I think was a lizard-like tail appeared on screen behind Alex, waving around.

They rolled a commercial for Jell-O shockingly. However, it wasn’t just any Jell-O, it was Jell-O Blood Pops! I was in a mix of shock and awe at this frozen food product that I deemed highly controversial. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that the person advertising the pops was Bill Cosby! He shouted, “After 25 years, Jell-O Blood Pops are back! Now with 60% less quaaludes!” He tried to stand up and dance along with these 2 poorly-animated 3D skeletons, but the elderly Cosby fell and broke one of his hips. The ad keeps rolling as Cosby lay on the ground, vomiting chunky, green fluid as the skeletons breakdance in the background to some really bad accordion music. The commercial ends and fades out after Cosby vomits up his spinal cord.

Infowars returns with Alex sitting at a new desk in place of the old one he destroyed in a firey, Democrat hate-driven rage. He has his glistening smile back and continues on with the show. “Welcome back to Infowars, the only talk show that guarantees to troll the libtards epic win style on the regular!” May I add that before he started speaking, his forehead looked to be patted dry while the demonic Jell-O commercial was rolling. Once Alex started speaking, his balding head immediately broke a sweat.

He looks inquisitively at the camera, before pointing at it and saying, “I know you’re watching, Geraldo. You know my secret.” He quickly zooms out of the studio, one of his cameramen following him. He jumps into his car and starts it. He pulls out of the studio parking lot and into the street, and might I say, he was going way over the speed limit. He did stop at stop lights however. While at a stoplight, he turned to the camera that was being held in shotgun. “I’m coming for you Geraldo, and you’re going to die.” The light turned green, and he stepped on the gas, speeding across the intersection, hitting several old people and baby strollers. He even laughed at one elderly woman who did a backflip when he hit her. “FLIP YOU OLD BITCH!” He stopped at a McDonald’s on the way here and ordered a McGangbang and a medium Coke, ingesting his meal on the way to my house.

Sure enough, a car pulled up in my driveway soon after. It was at that moment when I realized this was a live feed. He unbuckled, got out, and walked up to my front door, knocking politely at first, then ringing the doorbell really fast and aggressively. Since it’s polite and proper etiquette to wait until someone has opened the door, I took this opportunity to brew some coffee, then masturbate to degenerate furry porn so I could bust a nut into the coffee, then opening the door and presenting Mr. Jones with it. He pouted his lip as he looked down at the cup of coffee, a Reagan/Bush ‘84 mug. He was about to cry, knowing he missed my coffee so much. He grabbed the mug, inhaled the cup of joe before regretfully taking a switchblade from his pocket and saying, “I’m sorry Geraldo, but you know my secret. You must die.” I screamed like a little schoolgirl before running back into my house with a murderous reptilian conservative talk show host on my tail. It wasn’t long until the police arrived to arrest Jones for speeding and running over people. He pulled out his pistol and fired one quick shot at my head before the police burst through the door and cuffed him.

His bullet went through my brain, but I survived. I’m now wheelchair-bound, forced to live out the rest of my life as a cripple. I still have nightmares of Alex Jones, his reptilian form coming into my house while I’m in my wheelchair, still unable to move. He puts on a VHS tape of Veggietales while pointing at me in my wheelchair and cackling like a madman, insinuating that I’m a vegetable. At least I now have a restraining order against that fucker. I guess I’ll watch some Fox News and get over this whole mess.