>>509445205
It was a Tuesday night in D.C.—hot, sticky, and full of conspiracy. The moon glowed like a spotlight trained directly on Capitol Hill, and there I stood, shirt half-buttoned, hair sprayed to the heavens, a fresh vape cartridge in my back pocket and a plan burning a hole in my soul.

I wasn't here for politics. I was here for passion.

I saw her.

Alexandria. Ocasio. Cortez.

She strode down the marbled steps of Congress like a goddess raised on Bad Bunny and Bronx dreams. Power radiated from her like a solar flare. My knees got weak. My vision blurred. The hem of her dress fluttered like a matador's cape—red, bold, dangerous.

That booty—dear Lord, that blessed celestial hemisphere—moved with the rhythm of justice itself. I had seen revolutions rise and fall, but nothing prepared me for the way her silhouette danced against the glow of American democracy.

"Congresswoman!" I shouted, gripping my megaphone like it was the sword of destiny. “I am your humble servant—Primetime99, the King of the Culture War, the jester of January 6...”

She stopped. Turned.

I felt time freeze like a budget hearing with no end.

“Are you following me again, Stein?” she asked, one perfectly arched brow lifting like it was hoisting my entire heart.

I dropped the megaphone. It bounced off the concrete like a gavel smacking down destiny.

“I’m following my heart, mi reina,” I said, voice cracking like Tucker Carlson during a commercial break. “I may be a satirist, a chaos merchant, a clown in Gucci knockoffs—but you… you’re the green new dream.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is this another one of your TikToks?”

“No,” I whispered. “This is realer than any TikTok. This is my soul live-streaming.”

For a moment—a brief, electric moment—I swear I saw her lips twitch into the faintest smirk. AOC, smirking at me, Alex Stein, while I stood in a sweaty suit professing my ridiculous love under the pale dome of the Capitol.

“You’re insane,” she muttered, turning to leave.