MAGA Chronicles: Turning Point Valhalla
S02E09: Freedom of Speech Memorial Edition
“Lastly, to my friend Charlie Kirk … rest now, brother. We have the watch. And I’ll see you in Valhalla.” - Kash Patel, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation
It had been another crazy day for Kash. The stress and workload of this job were just insane. Even on days like today, when he managed to catch a nationwide wanted killer in less than two days after the assassination, the President would still take all the credit for himself.
Director of the FBI, it was a thankless job, indeed. The glorious title was barely worth the stress. But real warriors never gave up, no matter what, and so, Kash called it a day. He closed Netflix and put his tablet on the nightstand. “Vikings: Valhalla” sucked ass anyway. Female Viking warriors and a Black Viking queen—this was what decades of woke indoctrination did to this country. These people had even ruined his favorite show! He took a deep breath, lay down, switched off the lights, and pulled his violet satin sleep mask over his eyes.
The Valium did its work, and sleep welcomed Kash into its caring arms while the speakers in his smart bedroom gently played the theme song of Tits and Horses as his favorite lullaby. (Note from the Viking gods to the reader: For a more immersive reading experience, it is highly recommended to play the song softly on repeat while reading the story)
But his mind was still occupied with the events of the last few days. Disturbing images of the Draugr—the undead creatures from Norse mythology, cursed by greed—haunted his dreams. Kash tried to escape them, to cast them away, but the Nordic zombies would not leave him alone. They tried to grab his hands and make him turn around… to come with them! And as soon as this thought crossed his mind, it was already too late. The Draugr had seized control of him and pulled him deeper and deeper into the realm of darkness.
“Am I dead?” Kash heard himself ask.
“Not yet, my friend,” answered one Draugr with a crooked neck and a broken voice.
Kash looked down at himself. He was lying on a raft covered with violet blankets, unable to move. The Draugr beside him, using their long wooden poles, pushed the raft through the water into a cave.
“Where are you taking me?” Kash asked. When nobody answered, he added in an anxious whisper, “H-h-h-helheim?!”
As soon as he spoke the name of the realm of the dead, his body grew as cold as a corpse. Panicking, he looked around and saw fog surrounding the raft. “Niflheim!” he cried uncontrollably.
The Draugr all turned to look at him at once, and the one with the broken neck snapped: “Will you shut up for once! You’ll wake the giants with your stupid questions, you fool!”
From his time serving under the current President, Kash had learned to shut up when authority spoke—and so he did.
And as if the Draugr wanted to reward Kash’s obedience, he lifted his stick out of the water, pointed it ahead and said: “We bring you to the One whose name shall not be mentioned anymore—we are heading toward Valhalla!”
Valhalla? Kash couldn’t believe his ears. But the fog cleared and the darkness retreated as the raft emerged from the cave into the light. Then he saw the mighty cliffs of the green coastline, proud eagles tracing great circles in the sky, and, from afar, the invigorating north winds carried the tunes of war out over the sea: Valhalla lay before him in all its Nordic might and beauty!
The raft landed on a flat shore between the cliffs, and Kash, still shivering from the cold, stepped onto the shore and drew in a deep breath of fresh air. Looking up, he saw a long line of striking Viking warrior women on their horses. Their long blonde braids streamed in the winds of war—and so did the hairs of the women.
Kash couldn’t believe his luck—so many tits and horses! He fell to his knees, kissing the ground of this warrior’s paradise. But there was no time to enjoy the fruits of this land. At that moment, someone struck him with a club on the back of his head, and Kash sank once more into darkness.
When he woke up, his head pounded like the drums of war. The smell of intense male bonding—alcohol, fatty meat, sweat, farts, and puke—lingered in his consciousness. Kash slowly opened his eyes, which were spinning in all directions except straight ahead. He lay on the ground beneath a massive wooden table that was shaking. He heard laughter, chanting, and shouting from everywhere around him. As his view cleared, he saw himself surrounded by dozens of legs, muscular and as big as trees. The stone floor around him was littered with gnawed bones, knocked-over cups of wine, and other unidentifiable gunk.
Something grabbed his arm from the side. He turned his head and looked into a familiar face. “No way, my brother CHARL—” shouted Kash, but was immediately interrupted by his friend: “SHHHH, will you shut up! We have to be careful when we speak! They are drunk from their victory now, but they might still hear us! Every careless word could be used against us and seal our fate!”
“Who are they?” asked Kash hesitantly, still struggling with orientation.
“The barbarians,” whispered his friend Charlie.
“The barbarians? You mean the Vikings!” said Kash more enthusiastically as he tried to get up from the floor—only to hit his head on the table above him and fall back down. Charlie grabbed him hard this time. The music and singing suddenly stopped, and Kash looked at Charlie, who froze and listened anxiously. After a tense moment of silence, the men above them on the table started shouting all at once, “Skål, Skål, Skål!” before Kash heard the jugs toasting and the music continuing to play.
“Jesus, Kash! They are not our friends! We are their fucking slaves!” hissed Charlie as he grabbed the chains around Kash’s feet that held them in front of his friend’s face. And since Kash’s facial expression didn’t give away many signs of insight, Charlie added, pointing to the bucket next to them, “We are only here to clean their vomit, their piss, and their shit.”
“But how can this be?! We are warriors, too. We deserve a place on this table!” protested Kash.
“Leave it, Kash. I’ve already tried everything. In the beginning, I debated them, but these people don’t listen to arguments. They are barbarians, unable to change their minds! But listen to me—I’ve been here for a while and learned a thing or two about them. This guy with the fancy shoes, right at the end of the table, is their king. His name is Leif Erikson, and he calls himself the greatest warrior of Greenland. When he gets drunk, he brags about how he sailed to a new land far in the west and how he conquered all of it and enslaved all their people. I believe he is talking about America, and that must be why we are his slaves here…”
There was still no expression on Kash’s face; he just kept staring at Charlie in disbelief.
“Are you following me, Kash?”
“Yeah… but we are not even Indians!” complained Kash.
Charlie looked at his brown-skinned friend quietly for a moment, sighed, and said, “It doesn’t matter, Kash! To them, we are all the same—slave people!”
“So what are we gonna do now, Charlie?”
Charlie took Kash’s hands in his own and said, “That’s why I called you here. I need you to be the vessel for my message to reach the President’s ear. Hand him this pendant, tell him to conquer Greenland ASAP! I know it's on his roadmap, but it needs to become top priority. Tell him if he wants to stay king after his death, he needs to take Greenland now! There is no other way—the fate of the American people lies in your hands now! May Thor be with you on your journey, brother!”
It was the first time Charlie had called Kash “brother,” and it went down sweet, like mead with honey. The words of trust and honor still echoed in Kash’s heart when he opened his hand and looked at the silver, rune-engraved pendant lying in his palm like a king’s newborn heir in his crib—By Odin! It was Mjölnir, the most badass Viking symbol of all: Thor’s hammer!
Kash possessed several jewelry pieces of Thor’s hammer in his private collection at home, but all of them were replicas—this one was an original from fucking Valhalla! Kash pressed the pendant against his chest and reached out to hug his brother Charlie. But he was once again interrupted by the Vikings. The music had stopped again, the men stood up, and stepped back from the table. Respectful silence entered as the guest of honor walked into the room, guided to the place right next to King Leif Erikson at the head of the table.
The proud voice of the Viking king rolled like thunder through the room: “Brothers in arms, raise your horns, and welcome with me one of the bravest new Viking warriors among us! Let’s celebrate this important victory as another step toward the final downfall of Christianity. What’s your toast, Brother Robinson?”
The man called Robinson cleared his throat, lifted his horn, and said with a slightly mechanical voice: “We are all tools in the hands of the gods. My fate was never to die of old age, even though, I admit, I sometimes dreamed of it in moments of weakness. But the first time I touched a real gun—a M2 Browning .50-caliber machine gun—it struck me like lightning: I was one of yours, a weapon in the hands of the gods, and I knew my fate was to kill a prince and start a war. My brothers, raise your horns and drink with me to… eternal war!”
“To eternal war!” the Viking king echoed proudly. “Skål to our new brother: Tyler James Robinson!” The crowd went wild in their celebration and cheering for Robinson, and the feast continued with no one in the room holding back anymore.
Kash couldn’t believe his own ears and mumbled, “By Loki, what the Hel!”
Charlie looked at him, puzzled, and asked, “What is it? Do you know this guy?”
Kash looked back at his friend and said quietly, “That’s your killer, man! …at least if you assume the Vikings believe the official reports…”
“WHAT!? …Who is he? Where is he from?” Charlie asked.
“He is American,” replied Kash.
“WHAT?!”
“Yeah, man, I think your ‘Let’s just conquer Greenland and become the kings of Valhalla’ theory just fell apart,” added Kash, rubbing salt into the wound.
“FUCK! …Why did he kill me? Is he some kind of Islamist or radical leftist?”
“No, man, this kid is more MAGA than all of us. This guy is the real deal: ultra-conservative upbringing in Utah, weapon training from an early age, hardcore black-pilled belief system fueled by gaming memes. This guy is so radical right-wing, he went full circle and is basically left-wing again. At least that’s how we framed it…”
“Why is he talking so stilted?” asked Charlie.
“I don’t know. Isn’t that like Gen Z talk nowadays? Or maybe it’s autism, or his brain is still fried from the electric chair … do I look like I know everything?” Kash said, slightly annoyed now.
“Help us, God!” mumbled Charlie to himself.
“I hate to remind you, but God is dead, Charlie!” muttered Kash, discouraged.
“What did you say!?” Charlie fixated Kash’s eyes.
“What? Nothing!” said Kash, hoping not to have offended Charlie.
Charlie’s face lit up. “No, that’s it! Now it all makes sense!”
“I don’t understand,” said Kash, his eyes looking straight into the void.
“Of course you don’t. Listen!” commanded Charlie. “Leif Erikson, the king of the Vikings, hates Christianity! The whole day he is rambling about it: all the leftist woke policies, the whole transfiguration thing, the no-violence-and-show-the-other-cheek bullshit, and worst of all: the conspiracy of the Jewish guy… That’s how he talks all the time at the dinner table. I think he feels guilty for introducing Christianity to his people, which destroyed their culture in the long run …”
Charlie made a short thinking pause and then continued, “Anyway, that must be the reason why Robinson sits at this table and we rub the floors beneath it: By killing me, Charles James Kirk, the number-one Christian thought leader of the American youth, he tried to start a civil war. This is what the Viking king rewards: killing Christians—the more, the better!”
Charlie grabbed Kash by the shoulders and urged him, “Listen carefully! Go back to America now, my brother! Tell my wife Erika to make Turning Point USA bigger than ever before, tell the President to blame the Democrats for my murder, let this battle cry be heard around the world so that the radical left will start a civil war and …”
Charlie hesitated, but his friend Kash completed his thoughts for him: “…and kill as many Christians as possible… this is genius, Charlie!”
“I know… but Kash!”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t quote me on it!” Charlie winked at Kash, who was feeling very dizzy all of a sudden. The Draugrs grabbed Kash by the shoulders and pulled him away from the feast in this world, and back into the darkness.
The next morning, the alarm went on and continued for over an hour on repeat until Kash finally managed to turn it off and get up. He was extremely exhausted, much more so than on his usual mornings after visiting the D.C. nightclub scene. It felt like he had traveled to a land far away and suffered from massive jet lag. The whole dream about the sexy Viking warriors on the horses was forgotten, along with all the other minor details of the story. (Note from the Viking gods to the reader: turn down the music now to a minimum)
Still sleepy and dressed in his violet satin pajamas, Kash stumbled barefoot into the kitchen and stepped into something slippery as he opened the fridge. He looked down; his feet were covered in red liquid. He looked around and saw the carnage of food on the kitchen floor. While he tried to rub the Chicken Masala sauce from his foot, he wondered what kind of feast had happened here last night.
But the alarm on his smartwatch reminded him that the Epstein hearing in front of the Senate was starting in only half an hour! He could not be late; keeping the professional facade was of the highest priority during this stage of the playbook. Kash ran back into the bedroom, pulled the socks over his sauce-covered feet, slipped into his suit, and headed out for the hearing.
He made it just in time but could hardly focus on the same repeating questions from the members of the Senate regarding the stupid Epstein files. The people understood nothing: nothing about Epstein, and nothing about the pressure that Kash was under. These people sat with their fat asses in their chairs, farting, while tough guys like him were doing the real work without getting the appreciation they deserved in this country!
The hearing went on endlessly, but Kash was barely paying attention anymore. He drifted into his mental safe space and found himself humming softly to the soundtrack of “Tits and Horses” (Note from the Viking gods: Turn the fucking volume up!) that was playing on repeat in his mind while the questions of the representatives bounced off him like dull arrows on a giant Viking warrior’s round shield.
Bored by the meeting, his hand moved automatically below the desk into his pants. The movement stopped abruptly when he felt something small and hard in his pocket. It was something like a small cross—but then, as if he had been hit by the Hammer of Thor, he remembered his dream from last night: the Draugrs that dragged him on the raft through Niflheim, the green coastline of Valhalla, and, of course, the sexy Viking warriors on the horses…
“Mr. Patel!!” interrupted the angry representative in Kash’s daydreaming. “Would you please answer to the Senate! I won’t repeat myself a third time!!”
Kash ignored the annoying senator and instead reached into his pocket and pulled out a pendant of Mjölnir that he had bought at a pagan trade show booth during his visit of the ReAwaken America Tour some years ago in Miami. He turned the cheap jewelry around in his hand and looked at the runes. In the center of the pendant was a star engraved on the hammer. For one moment, Kash was confused and wondered if the Vikings had used pentagrams as part of their symbolism. Or maybe it was something else… maybe it wasn’t the symbol of Satan—no, wait! The star had six edges instead of five. Was this… the Star of David on the hammer?!!
“Since Mr. Patel obviously refuses to answer any further questions regarding Mr. Epstein’s involvement with the Israeli intelligence agencies, I will declare him dismissed!” concluded the bitchy senator lady opposing Kash.
But none of this bullshit mattered anymore. Kash’s thoughts were already back in Valhalla with his friend Charlie as he mumbled to himself, “I didn’t forget you, brother. Lastly, Christianity will be smashed by the hammer, one way or the other. Once my job is done down here, I will stand next to you on the Viking battlefields, where we will fight the eternal war, and afterwards the blonde Viking women will serve us while we feast like kings.”
And as the security personnel guarded their boss on the way out, Kash added,
“Hold on, brother. We have the hammer. And I’ll see you in Valhalla!”