‘How I Sleep at Night’ by Sean Hannity

Sean Hannity Eyes

The number-one question that liberal fascists ask me is, “How do you sleep at night, Sean Hannity?” Finally, after thirty years of being a champion for the people of the United States of America and the right wing all across the airwaves, I will tell you how I sleep at night. Then you may see that you and I aren’t so different.

Normally when I get home I head to my garage, which houses my workshop. Before being a radio host, I worked as a general contractor so I know my way around some tools. Recently I have been working on a set of matching rocking chairs for my wife and I. I tell you, nothing is better than watching the sun set from your front porch with the people you love. When I am done there, I head inside to eat with the family.

After a sensible dinner, I make my way to my home gym. Sitting behind a desk all day can be murder on someone’s body, so I try my best to stay fit. I alternate nightly between lifting weights, high-intensity cardio, and some light martial arts.

After building up a good sweat I hop in the shower, where I remove the skin suit that I and other high-ranking members of the Reptillioid Infiltration Squad are forced to wear to conceal our lizard-like features while we plot to destroy the world. I then retire to my study to read a bit.

Relaxing in my recliner with a nice glass of human blood, I peruse the texts from some of the greatest leaders known to the universe. People like Ronald Reagan, Richard Nixon, and Vice Admiral Thragg of the Reptillioids. You may know him by his Earth code name, “Roger Stone.”

From there I head to my desk to answer any emails that may have come in and finish any lingering work that I have leftover from the day. During this time, I also check out my Twitter page to converse with fans of the show, my fellow Reptillioids, and defend myself and my ideologies from left-wing terrorists. The hurtful things those people say…talk about being cold-blooded.

I then pull back the secret lever disguised as a candlestick on my mantle and descend the concealed staircase to my cellar, which houses my nest. Around this time I do start to get a bit hungry again and I opt for a midnight snack, even though my doctor says I need to cut out those sweets. I reach into the cage next to my nest, remove a live rat, unhinge my jaw, and chow down.

Now while most Reptillioid nests are comprised of mud and vegetation from river banks, I chose to fashion mine with used newspapers, mostly copies of the failing New York Times but I do have a few Washington Posts mixed in. Topping it is a custom-ordered Sleep Number bed (I’m a 25, the wife is a 15), and next to it is a sensible nightstand from Neiman Marcus. The nightstand contains my reading glasses, some antacids, and my proton blaster, which I use to protect myself and my family.

Once settled in, I psychically contact the Reptillioid Elders to catch them up on how the plan is proceeding and to receive new orders. We talk strategies for discrediting the mainstream media, am reminded to say “fake news” as much as possible, and I exchange pleasantries with my brother and sister whose designations on Earth are “Alex Jones” and “Tomi Lahren.”

After we end communications, it is time to hit the hay. I turn on my Sound+Sleep machine and set it to something pleasant. Sometimes it’s the crackling of a fireplace, other times it’s the soothing sounds of the forest, but mostly I settle for the mating call of the Komodo dragon. Their guttural bellowing reminds me of my home world, and these days I have been feeling a little more homesick than usual. Then the overhead lamp kicks on to ensure that I do not freeze to death on this planet’s surface.

I peck my wife on her beautiful and rough scaly cheek, and curl up my spiked tail to use as a pillow. If my mind is a little restless I use an old Reptillioid trick that gets me to sleep in no time: You count the number of humans that you plan on devouring once we make ourselves known to the planet. On one uneasy night I got all the way to 250 before I drifted off to slumber.

And that, dear reader, is how I sleep at night.

 

 




Kevin Michael Rowe

Author: Kevin Michael Rowe

Kevin Michael Rowe is a writer who lives in Kingston, NY with his beautiful wife and pets. He is aware that he does not photograph well.

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