My fellow worms and Americans,
It is I, your friend, the worm who ate part of Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s brain, then died. It is with a heavy scolex (that’s the knob-like attachment sometimes mistaken for my head) that I report that, after much prayerful consideration, we are leaving the race. My host, as is customary when faced with important decisions, released several falcons and studied their flight, then read the entrails from his roadkill fridge for confirmation; I made a small hecatomb to Worm God and reached the same conclusions.
Ultimately, this came down to values. I say now what I have said this whole campaign: I am a parasite and I do not have the country’s best interests at heart. So it is clear to me now that I have no choice but to drop out of the race and support Donald Trump.
As a creature who seeks only to gorge myself willy-nilly on whatever life offers without concern for what devastation I leave in my wake, I have long admired Donald Trump’s way of doing things. To live off the production of others in a harmful way, and to dwell relentlessly in the minds of people who wish they did not have to devote a corner to me — that is a creed we share. And he frequently speaks of his admiration for Hannibal Lecter, who also famously ate brain, so I know that if we ever met, we would have something to talk about.
Also I have been told that Trump, if elected, will make my host Secretary of Figuring Out What It Is The FBI Is Really Up To And Stopping It, unless that position is taken, in which case I am hoping he will be the head of the Food and Drug Administration! That’s huge! Can’t wait to approve lots of skin care and stop all vaccines! Get excited for preventable childhood diseases to be back in an even bigger way, but for those ailing children to have luminous complexions!
I understand that this is just injecting more chaos into an already chaotic race. But it feels like the only appropriate course for me, a parasite indifferent to human well-being, and the RFK Jr. campaign, my affiliates. And it is not as though I did not reach out to the Harris campaign, with a standard questionnaire: Are you, or do you possess, a parasitic worm? If not, would you be open to its ideas? We have yet to hear back — because Kamala Harris is afraid of scrutiny, I think.
It has become clearer and clearer to me, a brain worm, that there is only one logical home for me in the 2024 election. I did not want to say so earlier at the risk of alienating my host. As someone who has never once been tempted to travel a mile in someone else’s shoes, except literally, in the process of taking up unwelcome residence in his brain, it is in the Trump campaign that I feel most welcome. Indeed, many of the actions Donald Trump has taken over the course of this campaign are consistent with my values and exactly what I would have advised. Picking JD Vance? Inspired! I, a brain worm, say.
I have always said, if you plan to throw your vote away, throw your vote away on a worm. But now I think it is best to write in WORM’S CHOICE. Don’t specify any further; the people evaluating the ballots will know what you mean.
Still, this feels bittersweet. It’s always hard to know: When is the right time to withdraw from public life? To go sit under your own vine and fig tree, as George Washington did, but in my case gnawing an imperceptible hole inside each one and causing it to wither from within, then laying some eggs inside? I would like to do so at the moment when I have achieved all I set out to achieve and the world is on a good track, and people will praise me as a hero and a statesworm, or, failing that, as I throw my support to Donald Trump.
You aren’t going to have me to kick around anymore. Old soldiers never die; they just fade away. Old worms do die, but then we remain with you forever, nestled within your cerebellum. Goodbye, America.
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