Chapter I: Shapiro vs. UC Berkeley
Ben Shapiro often suffered a dilemma. While he was consistently successful in tearing apart the arguments of his formidable foes on the political stage and asserting dominance in even the friendliest debates, there was a lingering dissatisfaction that came with the job. He often communicated with the same audience on The Daily Wire, exposing the left with his infinite catalog of factual information, yet he often faced trouble attempting to send his message out to new audiences. According to several credible sources, open-mindedness was extremely scarce within the minds of the American people, and Shapiro settled with the notion that it was his responsibility to promote change.
And that day eventually came, a sunny afternoon at the dawn of May. The day that he scheduled to visit one of the most famous colleges in the United States, one that proclaims that “all manner of views can be expressed” without fear: University of California, Berkeley.
Except simple logic told a different narrative. In reality, UC Berkeley was a battleground cleansed of all conservative values and philosophies. Identifying as a right-leaning individual could be the difference between life and death, heaven and hell. Muscular students need be especially wary, as they were susceptible to an automatic label as a conservative for their “guns”. But even worse, it became dangerous to utter words expressing sympathy for the conservative views on campus. The last time Shapiro hosted a speech on campus in September of 2017, protestors conquered the grounds with the intent of silencing his beautiful voice. It required Shapiro to be escorted by policemen in full gear so that no bodily harm would come upon him.
But what no one realized at the time was that Shapiro had only been using a small fraction of his true power. In actuality, he was utilizing the protection of the police in order to further demonstrate their exceptional responsibilities to enforce the law and maintain the safety of all individuals, no matter their background. While he was appreciative that the police reached out to offer their services again, he politely refused and affirmed his commitment to riding this commitment solo. He would speak confidently to the people of UC Berkeley with the trademark speed and finesse he was known for, hoping to facilitate the transmission of diverse ideas and perspectives to the world. Although inevitably, he would later enjoy a highlight reel of “Ben Shapiro DESTROYS UC Berkeley Students” that random content creators made in honor of his work.
Stepping foot onto the campus of UC Berkeley, Shapiro noticed several interesting sights. Across the board, many of the students were decked in their “Yang Gang” gear, wearing beach sandals and sunglasses to complete the outfit. A small group of students were studying the foundations of chemical engineering under a tree nested in the center of a lush green area. Leaning across the building was an extensive line of students smoking a couple joints of weed as they waited to purchase more from a student dealer. Straight ahead was Zoey Tur and another individual conversing with a group of students about transgender rights while their gaze was aimed in the direction of Shapiro.
Shapiro had noticed the strange glance and resolved to continue walking ahead towards the facility where he would be speaking. To put it lightly, Ben Shapiro and Zoey Tur were not on the greatest terms with each other. After Shapiro questioned Tur’s femininity on a television program, Tur slowly grabbed the back of Shapiro’s neck, threatening to send him home in an ambulance if he did not conform to their wishes. While Shapiro filed a police report as a direct result of the intimidation, no action came about due to Tur’s status as a protected class.
Hoping to move past the situation and look ahead to a brighter future, Shapiro continued to tread across the grass, his mind focused on reviewing the unbreakable logic that composed the backbone of his speech.
But this wish did not play out as he had hoped. Just as his feet touched the concrete path, a hand crawled its way onto the spine of Shapiro’s neck, forming a partial chokehold and digging their nails into the surface of the skin. While it was not painful, it nevertheless sent the message of a threat.
“Ben, you cut that out right now,” Tur uttered as Shapiro turned his body to come face-to-face with the individual that once attempted to intimidate him on live television. A hostile exchange was inevitable according to Shapiro’s quick calculation.
“I’m not so sure what I need to cut out, but I think you certainly need to cut your nails before you hurt someone,” Ben responded.
Even this early into the exchange, sizable crowds had managed to draw closer around the perimeter, similar to the circle that forms when a high-school fight is about to ensue. Either way, Zoe was not pleased with Shapiro’s roast, confident that the comment was made as an attack on her gender identity. She had to make it evident that such actions were punishable by death.
“If you suggest one more time that I am not a woman, I will use these nails to cut through your throat slowly and smoothly like butter.”
Shapiro felt the nostalgic aura of the conversation arising once again, and he chose to respond in a similar manner.
“Well, that seems mildly inappropriate for a discussion like this.”
“You’re right,” Tur conceded. “But I’ve got something wildly inappropriate to compensate for it”, Tur remarked as she loosened her grip and snapped her fingers.
Right on cue, Shapiro came to a horrifying realization: the crowds that surrounded Tur and him were not a neutral party: every single one had anticipated such a conflict and prepared extensively with the hopes of apprehending Shapiro. It also appeared that most of them were hiding their true nature. Those in the “Yang Gang” apparel ripped off their shirts, exposing tattoos of Bernie Sanders etched onto their stomachs. The group of students that were studying chemical engineering were now holding something different: textbooks simply titled “Socialism”. Not to mention, the students smoking weed near the building were now smoking weed a few feet from the building, glancing over at the attention if they weren’t suffering an LSD trip.
And even worse, it appeared that Zoey Tur had arrived with a new friend.
“You’re about to learn what a motherf***ing sir is when I beat you down into the ground!”, she passionately expressed.
Shapiro recognized the sound of this voice: it was a transgender person by the name of Tiffany Moore. She rose to infamy when she trashed a GameStop in Albuquerque in response to an employee that allegedly misgendered her multiple times. Shapiro had no ill will against Moore (and perhaps sympathized partially with her situation despite his views on transgenderism). Yet as it stood right now, engaging in discussion was not the best course of action.
Tur and Moore now stood alongside each other, united in their disapproval of Shapiro’s mere existence within a gathering that held the same sentiment. Faces swelled in red, fists clenched in anger, everyone took small steps towards Shapiro to block out all means of escape. It was a dire situation that had a high likelihood of violent activity in some capacity, but Shapiro continued to remind himself that violence was not the answer: facts and logic made the world go round.
“Sorry guys, but I’m going to be late to my speech if I don’t get there in a few minutes. The audience is waiting to hear what I have to say,” Shapiro noted as he prepared to muster his way through the crowd.
Except he couldn’t move.
“What’s going on here?” Shapiro thought to himself. Not a single limb wanted to move an inch as a tingling feeling permeated throughout his body, paralyzing the muscles swiftly. Closing his eyes, he visualized and cycled through the meticulous details of his day thus far, attempting to pinpoint the answer…
“Not feeling too well Ben, are ya?” Tur mentioned through a smirk.
It then all became clear: Zoey’s nails had been laced in a chemical that entered Shapiro’s body when she dug his nails into the neck. Even with Shapiro’s scholarly knowledge and intellectual foresight, this was not one of the thousands of outcomes that Shapiro had predicted would occur when he entered the campus of UC Berkeley. And while his mind paralleled a god, his physical body succumbed to the forces of science, a sick joke upon further reflection.
Then the first punches bruised his body. Like the collapse of a sandcastle on an unsuspecting child, the crowd descended upon him, mustering all strength possible to reduce his bones to dust. Shapiro felt great pain, unable to do anything, but his emotions remained consistent.
“I guess I should have expected this,” Shapiro contemplated in regret. “I can do everything in my power to communicate and express ideas, but the brutality of humanity remains dormant in all of us.”
His body in shambles, Tur uttered the crowds to back off. One might have noted this as an act of mercy, but Tur merely wanted to deal the final blow.
“Alright, now it’s really time to put you in an ambulance. An ambulance to hell!” Tur cackled one last time as a powerful aura of energy surrounded her body. Without hesitation, Tur brought her fists up in one last time, and swung them down mightily.
Chapter II: Shapiro Begins
Yet right before she obliterated his skull, she paused mere millimeters away from Shapiro’s face. In fact, it appeared that time had suddenly frozen over, suspending the motions of everyone, even those that Shapiro sighted at the furthest distances. And in another strange phenomenon, he noticed that he had regained his mobility, as his arms glazed meagerly across the grass.
He slowly crawled backwards outside the range of Tur and propelled his body upwards. Glancing around the vicinity, the visceral expressions of Tur and Moore were etched onto their faces, mouth contorted in an act of rage. The chanting motions of the students were stuck in place, demonstrating the intense passion they collectively held against him. Sound was noticeably absent, allowing silence to fill the void of his ears.
“Is this the afterlife?” Shapiro questioned immediately. While Tur had not managed to kill him, it was certainly possible that the poison had reached his vital organs. Perhaps this was the preliminary gateway that led to a spiritual heaven.
“No,” another deep voice uttered in response.
Ben initially thought this voice was his personal one of doubt, but he noticed that its origin came from an external force behind him that he knew that he heard before. With hesitation, Shapiro performed a perfect half-rotation in place to come into contact with a familiar acquaintance.
It was none other than Dr. Phil, a psychologist that hosted a television program aptly named Dr. Phil. Shapiro and Dr. Phil had become good friends just a few months prior, with both appearing on each other’s programs at some point. One thing was for sure, neither one threatened their guests.
“Dr. Phil! What are you doing here?” Shapiro asked with excitement.
“I sensed a powerful disturbance within the fabric of this realm,” Dr. Phil explained, “so I teleported to that destination only to find you here. Given that you’re at UC Berkeley, it’s not hard to imagine what happened here.”
Even without disclosing the full story, Shapiro remained impressed with Dr. Phil’s capacity to read the situation, and it prompted an intellectual respect on his behalf. Without a doubt, he could rely on Dr. Phil for his guidance in this scenario.
“I assume you want to remedy the situation,” Dr. Phil perceived with exact accuracy. “And I might have an idea on how to accomplish this.”
Shapiro’s face glowed with optimism again, looking directly into the eyes of Dr. Phil to affirm that his full attention was upon his suggestions.
“So, you know I don’t like to get political, but I understand that a conservative requires conservative means to tap into their full potential,” Dr. Phil began. “And there is a prophecy trhetorical
hat has been uttered throughout the years that I believe that you have great knowledge of, an alternative religion of sorts.”
Shapiro knew exactly what he was referring to, although it always seemed like a farfetched story. According to a powerful conservative whose name was unknown, obtaining three distinct drops of “liberal tears” and crafting a beverage with them will ascend its consumer into a pseudo-heaven that grants its beholders an opportunity to grasp the greatest power wieldable by a mortal, given they overcome a great challenge.
“It can’t be true, can it?” Ben Shapiro asked, even though he knew it was a rhetorical question in the presence of Dr. Phil.
“You can bet your horses it is, and I know of three sources that one can obtain the liberal tears from,” Dr. Phil asserted. “I have a teleportation stone that will transport you to the required destinations upon request.”
On his left side, Dr. Phil shuffled through his pocket to pull out a stone that radiated a glistening beauty of pearl white. Embedded was a smaller gemstone that was alluring to the eye, potentially the source of the stone’s abilities. It gave the strongest impression as a luxury deserving of a display all its own. In addition, he pulled out a small canister to collect the liberal tears that he would be questing for. Shapiro doubted that he even deserved to lay his palms upon such treasures even as Dr. Phil reached his hand out, but he trusted the words of Dr. Phil and gently obtained the materials.
“I also brought another important means of protection for you,” Dr. Phil added as he pulled out a small handgun from his right pocket. Shapiro was appreciative of his gesture, as it provided an extra shroud of self-defense in the unfortunate scenario that his adventure become perilous.
“Thank you Dr. Phil. Rest assured that I will do everything in my capacity to overcome this struggle.”
“I believe you Ben. I mean if you don’t come back, you won’t be able to school the crazies on my show anymore,” Dr. Phil responded as he slowly faded away from view, waving his hand as a small gesture of farewell.
Time continued to remain mostly stagnant, but he noticed small facial movements arising from the faces of the crowd, as if they were mustering a small struggle to break free of the chains of time.
“It took capitalism half a century to come back from the Great Depression. I’ll make sure this doesn’t take that long,” Shapiro proclaimed, holding the stone above his head. And within an instant, he was basked in a red aura and teleported away from the scene.
Chapter III: Shapiro vs. Clinton
Rain slowly drizzled from the cloudy depths of the sky, lightly coloring Shapiro’s navy-blue suit jacket a slight shade darker. He was situated within the middle of a forest, with leaves that failed to escape the beauty of spring barely scattered across the floor. Without any indication as to where he had been teleported to, Shapiro proceeded on the path carved ahead through the lack of forestry.
It was strangely peaceful: the trail was absent of people or animals, and the endearing scent of petrichor filled the air. California had not experienced a rainfall in quite some time, but Shapiro cherished the soothing nature of a light rain, especially as a refreshing break from the typical weather cycles. Just for a brief while, Shapiro glanced up at the clouds to allow the rain to coarse across his face, washing away the remaining semblances of blood that dripped from his mouth.
That’s when the rustling began.
As he teetered his head back to a normal position, he caught the faces of two individuals. One appeared to be a woman with a black coat donning a neatly combed head of blonde hair, slightly dampened by the rainfall. The other individual was a taller man sporting a similar outfit, with short white hair and tired facial features.
The eyebrows on Shapiro’s head raised slightly higher than average. He was shocked at the startling resemblance that these two individuals shared with both Hillary and Bill Clinton.
Except that it was Hillary and Bill Clinton, and their piercing gaze in his direction affirmed their identities.
No words were spoken as the two parties approached each other until they were only separated by two feet. There was an uncomfortable pause of silence between them, as they engaged within the tried and true competition sprawling countless generations: the staring contest.
As one might imagine, attempting to emerge victorious in a starting contest against two people is insanely difficult. In fact, Shapiro was forced to point his eyes individually at Hillary and Bill, further placing him at a disadvantage.
Yet Ben Shapiro was the furthest thing from a slouch. And the starting contest persisted in the faint rain for a couple minutes. Then it approached a half-hour. Then it reached an hour.
Around the four-hour mark, Bill Clinton found himself bored with the affair and finally chose to interject the first spoken dialogue into the conversation, a decision that would soon prove fatal.
“I’m quite surprised at your fortitude Mr. Shapiro. I must acknowledge your dormant strength, but know that your efforts are merely in vein.”
With his quick wit, Shapiro decided to speak up with the best response that was too irresistible to pass up.
“I’m flattered at the attention that you’ve provided me over these past hours. If only you would give this much attention to your wife as you gave to Monica Lewinsky.
Shapiro knew his words minced deep, and it manifested itself on Bill Clinton’s face as the peaks of his mouth took a sharp trajectory downwards. Shapiro also sensed something else: a fragile energy source that surrounded both Hillary and Bill under one aura. He had also realized that the gaze of his eyes had been shifting ever so slightly closer to the center at intervals of 0.0736 millimeters. Putting these two pieces of the puzzle together, Shapiro knew what was coming.
“Alright Bill, it’s about time we knock this whipper-snapping punk back into reality with the combined forces of our love,” Hillary yelled with feigned sincerity.
Once the two clutched each other’s hands, a bright light enveloped the forest, shrouding the couple in a basket of powerful energy. Fully committed to claiming victory in the staring contest, he did not blink once during this process.
When the blinding light had disappeared, a new figure stood in their place. It appears that Hillary and Bill Clinton had performed a fusion that merged together their physical appearance and mental fortitude to foster the soul of a more powerful being. One could not help but notice the new appearance they had undertaken, sporting a dominant yellow hairstyle. Combining the laser gaze of Bill Clinton with the unwavering persistence of Hillary Clinton, it appeared to be an ideal combination. Even the weather morphed in response to the predicament, with massive winds attempting to blow Shapiro down to the ground and thunder strikes igniting trees in the vicinity.
“Bow down Ben Shapiro,” the lifeform uttered. “You have no right to step foot on this soil with your abhorrent worldview. Had it not been for your actions, we would have easily sealed the election from that motherf***er Donald Trump. Everything that we had created was torn down by your alternative-right army of deplorable white men who are single handedly responsible for trashing the country of America. By eliminating you, the source of the problem, we can finally begin to pursue….”
“Alright, settle down Hillbilly Clinton,” Shapiro interrupted. “Can I at least tell a joke to lighten the mood a little bit?”
Pondering over the thought for about three seconds, Hillbilly shrugged in approval.
“Perhaps I can grant you at least one parting wish before your soul is erased from existence.”
With the opportunity seized, Ben proceeded to express his joke.
“Why did no one vote for Hillary Clinton in the 2016 presidential elections?”
Hillbilly appeared triggered, knowing that one of its counterparts had won the popular vote by a decent margin during the elections, but had been thwarted by the institutions of the electoral college. While Hillbilly nearly responded in a hostile manner, it chose to play along, waiting for an answer that Shapiro eventually provided soon thereafter.
“Because humans can’t vote. Pokémon Go to the polls.”
Hillbilly contemplated in silence for a couple moments, but it amounted to a huge burst of laughter that quelled the extreme weather. It was laughing so much that tears began to flow down its face.
“Bwahahahahahaha! That’s the dumbest thing that I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Who taught….”
Before Hillbilly’s cognitive appraisal of confusion could translate into an expression, Shapiro leapt forward with a powerful might. Grasping the small canister from the pocket in his suit jacket, he swiftly placed it upon the surface of Hillbilly’s cheek, capturing the tear that had flowed down its face. The entire time, Shapiro had been hoping to extract tears from the eyes of his opponents, and the staring contest was the perfect opportunity to manipulate the circumstances in his favor.
“One down, two more to go,” Shapiro acclaimed with vigor as he turned back towards Hillbilly. “Hope to see you again in the future! I’ll shoot you an email when I’m ready for another starting contest.”
With perfect timing, the red aura coated Shapiro in his entirety, as it prepared to transmit his being to another location.
Chapter IV: Shapiro vs. Smollett
Shapiro barely managed to catch note of a broken light fizzling in the distance. Darkness consumed the entirety of his surroundings, without any indication of the right direction of escape. It anything was apparent, Shapiro found himself in the middle of the night within a strange city he lacked familiarity with.
As a quick confirmation, Shapiro quickly squinted down at the watch he obtained from MVMT Watches, surprised that it happened to be 2:00 in the morning. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had been outside the house at this hour, or even the last time that he stayed up this late. As a devout Jewish man with a family to support and a curfew to meet, there was no room for irresponsible actions. Of course, this situation happened to be an exception, as the liberal tears had to be collected with urgency.
Without any guidance, Shapiro took a few steps forward, presuming that he was trapped within an alleyway. More dim lights revealed themselves as he treaded past the various dumpsters lining the walls. Sewer dwellers could be heard running through the waters underground, echoing through the open vents on the ground.
He eventually walked onto the sidewalk, featuring a collection of small stores. Nothing was open, and therefore no light sources were present on the streets apart from the illuminating presence of the gibbous moon. It was an unremarkable sight at first given the lack of bustling activity to liven up the atmosphere.
Yet Shapiro knew that mere numbers were not required to make circumstances more interesting.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ben Shapiro,” a muffled voice uttered from behind him.
As expected, Shapiro instantly knew who the individual in question was before he turned to face him.
“Hope you’re enjoying that Subway footlong Jussie,” Shapiro acknowledged in the most sarcastic tone possible.
Just months prior, it shocked the world when it was revealed that Empire actor Jussie Smollett had staged a racial and homophobic attack against himself with the help of two personal trainers, with the intention of bolstering his career against circumstances he found as unaligned with his aspirations as a star actor. The fake mainstream media initially tried everything in their power to justify their coverage and circumvent the issue at hand to push a specific political agenda, but the narrative had been uncovered with relative ease.
Yet the efforts and resources from the police department in Chicago ended up in vein: all sixteen charges levied against Smollett were dropped at the end of March for unknown reasons, despite the fact that prosecutors continued to acknowledge their confidence that he was guilty of the crime. Ever since those days, Smollett has maintained his acting career, maintaining his innocence when interrogated.
Internally, Shapiro was extremely pissed. He found it preposterous that such an obvious crime with documented evidence was not done proper justice, citing leniencies within the criminal justice system that were afforded to some people depending on their financial status or the color of their skin. He did not want to inflict harm upon Smollett as it contradicted his values, but he acknowledged an alternate reality where his fists would have done the speaking.
“Very funny Ben,” Smollett remarked, understanding the hidden meaning behind Shapiro’s statement. “I’ll have you know that I eat a tasty Subway sandwich every night of the week. But as a racist individual, you’re probably looking down upon me right now, huh?”
“First off, it’s impossible for me to look down upon you when you’re roughly three inches taller than me. Second, I’m just curious why 2:00 is the ideal time for you to purchase a Subway sandwich. Consuming food shortly before bed might impact your digestion…”
“How about you shut your mouth for once,” Smollett attacked. “I’ll have you know that as a gay African-American man, it was quite offensive that you were one of the key figures pushing the false narrative that I staged an attack and chose not to believe my story on the basis that…”
“But Jussie, aren’t you a biracial man?” Shapiro quickly interjected. “I find it kind of ironic and disingenuous that you happen to be amongst the most privileged members of society, and that you purposely label yourself as purely African-American in order to paint yourself as a victim of the system.”
Smollett’s face was visibly angered, his eyebrows twitching in dissatisfaction. Shapiro had indeed pointed out an interesting trend: famous biracial people often chose to identify as one race in public while disregarding the other race to gain perceived social and political advantages, including former president Barack Obama. In Shapiro’s eyes, Jussie Smollett was no different.
“Also, you have to be delusional to tell yourself that you didn’t stage that attack. At the very least, I’m surprised you were comfortable enough to hold onto your Subway sandwich with a noose around your neck and casually return to your apartment before calling the police. Not to mention, you then requested an interview with Robin Roberts weeks later to defend yourself when doubts began to arise. Do I even need to ask why that was the case?”
The nerves had been struck on all fronts. Jussie Smollett dropped the Subway sandwich onto the ground, strands of lettuce dancing across the pavement. Briefly mourning the destruction of his late-night snack, Smollett eyed Shapiro with a raging fire in his pupils.
He instantly rushed Shapiro, attempting to grab the collar of his dress shirt and hoist him in the air. Shapiro anticipated this attack from the offset of their encounter and sidestepped with an elegance that even the most proficient ballerina teacher would awe at. Unbeknownst to Smollett, Shapiro had been aware that his opponent was behind him the entire time, as he heard the sound of somebody munching on food in the darkness. To lure them out, he chose to walk ahead to the street in order to bring the individual out of the shadows.
But there was another strategy in place. Shapiro had not stepped off the sidewalk connected to the alleyway, meaning there was a slight change in elevation due to the step that led onto the actual street. Knowing that he could instigate Smollett in some manner, he touched upon personal matters to urge Smollett to lunge outward in a fury and trip upon himself.
These events played out as they were envisioned within the mind of Shapiro. Tripping on the edge of the sidewalk, Smollett lost his footing and propelled forward, barely managing to reach out his arms to protect his face from meeting its demise. Alas, the conflict had reached its end; even the strongest would shed tears after suffering a few bruises as a result of tripping over themselves in an embarrassing fashion.
Then the waterworks began. Rolling onto his back, Smollett was clearly saddened as streams of tears began to roll down his face. He didn’t even attempt to wipe them away; those efforts were futile against the everlasting presence of Ben Shapiro.
But even though Shapiro held some semblance of fulfillment for conquering his second challenge, even he could not ignore that Smollett was a troubled individual who suffered at the hands of a society that wanted him to live to the tune of certain expectations placed upon him at birth.
He crouched down next to Smollett, filling up his canister with the liberal tears that he set out to obtain from the beginning. But prior to reaching into his jacket pocket for the teleportation gemstone, Shapiro left Smollett with some parting words.
“Hey, I might still be angry at the hoax you staged against yourself and the fact that you got off quite easily, but I can only hope that you choose to live a decent life afterwards. People can change, and hopefully you can come to a better understanding of yourself and the world around you.”
With his objective fulfilled, Shapiro grasped the gemstone, anticipating his final challenge wherever the gemstone would take him. With that familiar red aura, Shapiro disintegrated into thin air, leaving no traces of his appearance in Chicago. But Smollett would remember this day, and perhaps learn a lesson or two as a result.
Chapter V: Shapiro vs. Morgan
When he opened his eyes, Shapiro noticed himself seated in a somewhat comfortable chair with an orange pillow cushioning his back. Looking to his right revealed a breathtaking (but probably artificial) view of London with the sun breaking through the skyline to emit a beautiful gradient of color. Jumping from New York to Chicago was a domestic travel, but he did not expect to find himself crossing international boundaries on his humble journey. He was sitting at a small table with room for two people to sit compactly, right across from another individual whom he knew all too well. Stretching out his arms downward after a brief travel, he anticipated a hearty conversation.
“We’re back on Good Morning Britain with our second guest. He’s the editor-in-chief of the Daily Wire and author of the book The Right Side of History: How Reason and Moral Purpose Made the West Great. He also happens to be the individual that accused me of standing on the graves of dead children during his appearance on my CNN program six years ago.”
“That’s probably because it was true,” Shapiro remarked as he turned to face his old adversary Piers Morgan, which admittedly baffled him. Shapiro believed that Morgan held left-leaning views and expressed that on his show, but since then Morgan has actively supported Donald Trump throughout the presidential elections and beyond, even filing an application to become the chief of staff for his administration. The two have exchanged a couple times since 2013 on Twitter on various issues. Despite this, Shapiro was now conflicted on Morgan’s political affiliation, and it had taken him a couple seconds longer than usual to develop multiple strategies to extract the liberal tears from when he awoke.
“I wanted to bring you on to the show in order to reflect upon the current state of gun control in the United States,” Morgan began. “As you know, a tragic shooting just occurred in Christchurch. In response, New Zealand implemented comprehensive and extensive gun control legislation in roughly a week. Given that the issue of gun control remains a standstill in the American political system, do you have any suggestions for policy in the United States?”
“Obviously, my deepest sympathies go out to the people that had to suffer through such tragedy in Christchurch. In terms of tangible policy, we need to calibrate the laws of gun control in order to keep these weapons out of the hands of bad people,” Shapiro responded.
“But Mr. Shapiro, how do you suppose you would accomplish this?”
“We need extensive background checks for all individuals in order to screen for mental illness, then develop a national registrar that maintains information on those eligible to purchase a gun.”
“So, are you suggesting that we should not impose a significant ban on most weapons, including semi-automatic rifles?”
“Well I don’t recall ever suggesting that. I just want to maintain the integrity of the Second Amendment and allow people to bear arms for protection against others or the threat of the government.”
“But the Second Amendment was adopted in 1776. Don’t you believe that it’s possible that the founding fathers did not foresee the caliber of guns that would develop centuries down the line?”
“It’s certainly possible, but it doesn’t change my stance on the issue. Also, the Second Amendment was established in 1789 and revised once in 1992, something you would have known if you read the Constitution I gave you back in 2013.”
Piers Morgan stared blankly into Ben Shapiro’s eyes, placing his right arm on the table and leaning forward just a tad bit.
“How dare you? How dare you accuse me of being wrong?”
“Because you are wrong Piers. I mean you have to realize that just because you were a judge on America’s Got Talent for a few years doesn’t mean you know everything about the country and its history.”
“You can engage in your fruitless affair as much as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that guns are a dangerous tool that needs to be out of the hands of dangerous individuals. The fact of the matter is, your dangerous views are too outdated to hold any weight within our society.”
“Well if that’s the case Piers, do you consider me a dangerous individual?”
“Absolutely not! In fact, I’d be willing to affirm that I pose a much greater physical and emotional threat than you.”
“You might be right Piers. In that case, it would be great if you could please remove the gun under your seat.”
Morgan was quite confused, as he did not recall bringing a gun to Good Morning Britain. In fact, the last time he purchased a gun was at Asda, specifically a Nerf Elite Disruptor gun, for the child of a good friend.
But indeed, when he glanced under the table, he was rightfully horrified to notice a small handgun right under his chair. Popping off his seat, Piers Morgan yelped as he took a few steps backward.
“Roll back the camera! I need to figure out who placed that abomination there!” Piers shouted in frustration.
But it proved to be ineffective. There was no footage recorded in between the commercial break of the first guest appearance and Shapiro’s because the crew went to take a quick tea break, meaning that it was impossible to deduce such a conclusion.
But Shapiro knew exactly what had transpired. Because it was all going according to his meticulous plan. When he noticed the London backdrop to his right, he immediately deduced that Piers Morgan was his next opponent. Knowing the tensions between them were largely founded on the premise of gun control, he wanted to use that to his advantage. So when he was stretching his arms downwards, he quickly grasped the small handgun that Dr. Phil bestowed upon him and slid it quietly under the seat of Piers Morgan to incriminate him.
Of course, there was more to this plan. Given that Piers Morgan was not an emotional person, he needed to preface this strategy with emotional backing. Knowing the program would be broadcasted live, he made sure to insert a mention of the Second Amendment in his response to Morgan’s questions. He was positive that Morgan would incorrectly describe the state of the Second Amendment, opening the window of opportunity needed for Shapiro to trap Morgan within the ropes of his plan.
And things continued to quickly escalate. Fellow broadcasters were shocked at the revelation of a handgun on the premises of Good Morning Britain. Discourse soon devolved into another degree of chaos, as some called authorities to handle the situation while another man pinned down Morgan to check for more weapons.
“P-p-please, don’t do this to me. I didn’t have that gun, really!” Piers cried in desperation This is a complete disgrace and I’m completely embarrassed. Cut the cameras. CUT THE CAMERAS!”
Unfortunately, the cameras were not cut in time. The clip had gone viral across Twitter in the United Kingdom and was quickly spreading around the world for anyone on the Internet to witness. Headlines were just minutes away, and Morgan’s reputation was essentially ruined.
Morgan knew of his fate. Without resistance, a single tear formed in the corner of his eye, dripping slowly down the cheek. Shapiro noticed this, catapulting his body across the table as efficiently as a parkour professional, performed a wide somersault, and positioned himself perfectly to fill his canister with the liberal tear that hid itself behind the once-sturdy face of Piers Morgan.
Satisfied with his parting words for Jussie Smollett, he chose to do the same for Piers Morgan.
“On the bright side, you’d probably be a great fit as the chief of staff for Donald Trump; you have a great history of getting fired wherever you go!”
It was mean-spirited, but Shapiro felt he deserved to make a quick roast before he made his departure. With the gemstone in hand, he beckoned it to take him to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, and it chose to grant his wish as red light enveloped his body and removed his presence from the premises of Good Morning Britain.
“H-h-how dare you…”, Piers Morgan uttered one last time, before losing the courage to speak another word.
Chapter VI: Shapiro Ascends
Shapiro sat on the edge of the south tower of the Golden Gate Bridge, looking across the beautiful ocean at the sunset escaping the sky. Even people like Shapiro required a period of rest, a moment to reflect upon the events that had transpired. In addition, the stress of teleporting through dimensions and timelines to reach the destinations of his targets had worn him out a tad, requiring a few moments to rejuvenate his energy to its maximum potential.
“Congratulations Ben! I couldn’t be prouder of you,” Dr. Phil exclaimed as he watched the sunset alongside Shapiro. The appreciation was mutually shared by Shapiro; Dr. Phil had provided Shapiro a great means of dealing with Piers Morgan that if he had not prepared beforehand would have made Shapiro’s process of obtaining the liberal tears less efficient.
After about two minutes of graceful silence, Shapiro felt that the time had come to do what he must: ascend to the heaven that would provide him a great power.
“So, did you bring the solution?”
“Absolutely. I have it right here,” Dr. Phil responded as he pulled out the thermos containing the liquid and passed it over to Shapiro.
Upon opening the thermos, his nose was greeted by the fruity, aromatic scent of oolong tea, warming his hands upon touch and nearly tempting Shapiro to drink it down in a single gulp. Fortunately though, his mind would not succumb to the temptation. He grasped the container with the three sets of liberal tears and dropped them into the thermos. Screwing the lid back on, he shook the thermos a couple times to blend together the substances, then opened it one more time. Finally, he took the lid of the thermos and used the container to pour the concoction into the lid.
“Would you like to have some Dr. Phil” Shapiro asked out of kindness.
“Don’t worry about me,” Dr. Phil noted. “I have to be honest, the thought of drinking something with liberal tears still sounds a little off-putting.”
Shapiro acknowledged his concern with a nod, aware that the salinity of the tears might ruin the taste for some.
Looking out to the ocean one last time, Shapiro brought the concoction to his lips and sipped down a quarter of the lid. The tea indeed tasted a tad salty, but it was drowned out by the honeyed texture and fruitful flavor, not to mention a pinch of sugar to counteract the taste of the tears.
Just moments after, Shapiro noticed his body slowly levitating above the tower, but it soon became apparent that he was floating higher and higher towards the brink of the sky. A beacon of light broke through the clouds, opening a pathway to the heavens that were once told in prophecy alone.
“Be careful up there! I bet the final challenge will be toughest of them all!” Dr. Phil suggested, waving farewell once again before he disappeared from Shapiro’s view.
“I will Dr. Phil. I will.” Shapiro affirmed with great confidence as he passed through the clouds, blinded by a white illumination that brought his mind to ease, as he slowly awaited his arrival at the challenge grounds.
Chapter VII: Shapiro vs. The Almighty
As Shapiro opened his eyes, he found himself in a humble setting that defied his expectations for a challenge grounds of grand proportions. He found himself lying across a green couch situated next to a large brown table. A wastebasket peered above the height of the table, filled roughly up to its halfway point with crumpled papers. He also noticed another cabinet adorned with various awards and a complete tea set, then adjacent to that was a double-door presumably leading out into a large hallway
“What a strange place. Is this an investigator’s office?” Shapiro questioned. He sat up on the couch and glanced around the room, only for one more sight to catch his attention. A massive window eclipsed the entire room, radiating sunlight through the glass as the curtains were neatly pulled away to the edges. Positioned in front of the window was a desk the same color as the table he identified earlier, alongside a black office chair.
And on top of that table lay another person. It was a girl dressed in a black school uniform. Her hair was a pinkish color that went down to her shoulders, with a small black ribbon fixated in the middle of it. How that ribbon stayed within her hair was a mystery to Shapiro; it went against his preconceived notions of a ribbon’s function. She also happened to be sleeping soundly, not making even a peep. There was no doubt in his mind: she was a liberal.
“This is pretty strange. Is this girl a secretary or something?” Shapiro mused.
“Yes!” the girl responded with a bubbly smile as she leapt up from the table to stand straight up.
“What the f**k?! Did this girl just read my mind or something?!” Shapiro frantically questioned to himself in a panic. Nothing scared him more than a person who could access his running thoughts and memories.
The girl turned her attention towards Shapiro.
“No need to fret! I won’t dive into your head to uncover the deepest, darkest secrets within your subconscious!” she assured. “Also, you can call me Chika instead of “this girl!”
That confirmed it. Shapiro chose to shut off his running thoughts and focus solely on the conversation at hand. Whoever Chika was, she appeared to be the second-in-command to the almighty being that inhabited this place.
“I heard that there was one more challenge to overcome if I wanted to obtain the power needed to defeat my opponents. By any chance do you know who I should be speaking to?” Shapiro asked.
“You’ve come to the right place! If you want to obtain that power, you need to defeat me, the Love Detective!”, Chika exclaimed as she pointed her finger triumphantly at Shapiro.
“Chika? Love Detective? Have you been smoking pot? That goes against all logical fundamentals of what constitutes a powerful person, be it a productive member of society.”
Chika puffed up her cheeks and began tapping her foot on the ground for a short period of time, before transitioning back to her cheerful self.
“Who said that everything in this world had to be rational? Something like love cannot be explained through facts and logic alone. Even life is a giant question mark!” Chika responded.
And for the first instance in quite some time, Shapiro had been undoubtedly triggered.
“Hold your horses there. The idea that this world cannot be explained by the foundations of observation and objective reasoning is patently absurd. I guess that someone dropped you a bit too hard on your head, because you think that you can spout nonsense about life and play the aura of a “Love Detective”. Crazy, I tell you! We need to stand our ground with factual information, with answers to all the world’s questions.”
“So why is your name Ben Shapiro?”
“Whaa…?” Shapiro paused.
It had been a question that had never crossed his mind. He had always cherished the beauty of his name. He had one of the most common masculine names in America, an honor that placed him amongst the top of his caliber. His last name was derived from Jewish origins, which was speculated to have a variety of meanings, including “handsome”, “shepherd”, “sheep”….
“Wait…is she trying to call me a sheep?!” Shapiro panicked. He had begun contemplating the actual extent of Chika’s intelligence, pondering if she would be aware of the etymology of Jewish names. Was it a coincidence that should be dismissed, or was this girl smarter than she let on? Out of primal instinct, Shapiro slapped himself in the face to calm himself from these irrational thoughts. Chika internally screamed upon witnessing this.
Even then, he couldn’t provide an answer. It was possible that there was some deep meaning behind the reason his parents had named him “Ben”, but he did hold a semblance of doubt on that notion. So he had to turn the tables.
“I don’t know Chika. How about you tell me why my name is Ben Shapiro.”
Chika was confused at the turnaround. She stood in place, looking at the ceiling for an answer to eventually come to her. It didn’t take too long, however.
“Oh, I know! The initials for Ben Shapiro are BS, which stands for bullshit!”
It didn’t matter if her remark was a joke or not. In Shapiro’s mind it was an extremely irrational explanation, but it nevertheless struck him personally and managed to infuriate him. Losing his train of thought, Ben Shapiro went on a rhetorical rampage.
“Look, I expected to obtain a great power from coming here, but all you’ve managed to do is demonstrate you oblivious incompetence that was propped up by the left. Literally everything that you do based upon your precious feelings. First you want to call yourself a love detective, then you want to get a cheap laugh with my name at its expense. At your age, I was making more efficient use of my time, formulating the ideas for my first book and succeeding in school. Meanwhile, people like you choose to be the “secretary” of a nonexistent student council and fool around! Facts don’t care about your feelings, and the fact of the matter is that you need to throw away the ribbon and grow up!”
Chika’s glowing smile quickly turned into a neutral stare. She looked somewhat down as she walked around the desk and pulled out a newspaper and roll of red tape. Crumpling up the newspaper neatly and wrapping the red tape along the bottom of the paper, she had created a makeshift paper fan.
Proud of her creation, she held it up with her mouth wide open, clearly in awe of her beautiful creation.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Shapiro smirked. “What are you going to do with a paper…”
Chika suddenly swung the paper fan down, and a powerful force of gravity shoved Shapiro right into the ground. His face was brought down to the floor, unable to muster the strength to tilt his head back towards Chika. Even worse, that same floor began to collapse within itself as the rest of the building walls disintegrated to reveal a hellish landscape.
Shapiro couldn’t think straight. All thoughts were erased in place of fear, while his muscles were tearing apart from the foundations of his body and crippling him. His bones felt compressed as if they were going to snap one-by-one and transform him into a immobile blob. He couldn’t even check to make sure that his epidermis was still attached to his body; pain overtook all his senses. And the tears. So many tears ran across his eyes without opposition, as fluids started pouring out the eyelids in streams. Blood spattered from his mouth and nose while he was slowly losing consciousness.
Shapiro was afraid. He wanted the pain to stop, but there were no means by which he could. Death was cruelly prolonged for him so he could experience every ounce of pain that was mortally possible. And more importantly, this situation could have been avoided if he had not lost his control against a high school student. All of it was so irrational…
That’s when everything started to click in place. Using the tips of his fingertips to prevent himself from getting smashed into the ground, Shapiro cried out one last time.
“The world is an irrational place! Facts might not care about feelings, but it’s those feelings that make us human! I didn’t know this before, but now I understand!”
“There we go!” Chika responded.
As she closed the flaps of the paper fan, the almighty power that had rained down upon Shapiro moments earlier had dissipated. Crumbled architecture slowly reformed into the familiar meeting room that they were once standing in. The floor recovered itself and became stable once again, allowing for Shapiro to stand up once again. That hellish landscape that dominated the atmosphere reverted back to one of bright sunshine, only blocked by the large window that once stood in between.
“I guess I underestimated you Chika,” Shapiro conceded.
“You bet you did!” Chika responded. “At least you learned your lesson and passed the test!”
As Shapiro had come to the conclusion after he had been slammed down, Chika was indeed the prophet that held the powers that Shapiro had been seeking. It reinforced the notion that judging a person by their appearances can prove consequential for the worst.
“So you want to defeat Zoey Tur and her crew, right? I think I have just the thing for you!”
Lacking hesitation, she held out the paper fan that was created for the purpose of schooling Ben Shapiro.
“Are you sure you want to give me that much power for this situation?” Shapiro questioned one last time.
“Don’t worry! The capacities of this paper fan are scaled depending on the location in which they are used. So when you return to UC Berkeley, its greatest power will likely be the production of powerful winds.”
Assured by her promise, Shapiro took the fan and held onto it tightly. Even if his main priority was to teach his opponents at UC Berkeley a lesson, it would become a token of appreciation that he would cherish amongst the rest of his achievements.
“Thank you Chika. Maybe we’ll meet again in the near future,” Shapiro bid farewell as he prepared to use the teleportation stone one last time.
“For sure! Also, I just wanted to let you know before you go: I’m not a liberal.”
Shapiro had forgotten that he had misjudged her as a liberal in his head when he first noticed her on the desk.
“Remember man, I think what I think and I believe what I believe yo!” she rapped as Shapiro unlocked the powers of the gemstone.
He could do nothing but smile as he allowed himself to be taken back to the destination where this conflict had started: UC Berkeley.
Chapter VIII: Shapiro Triumphs
Nothing appeared to change on the surface when Shapiro returned to UC Berkeley. Just as it had been when he arrived, the sun radiated on the campus and the weather was excruciatingly warm as usual.
Unless it was proven otherwise, Shapiro was positive that he had been transported back to the normal timeline that he had originated from. The placement of the sun was slightly off from where it had been last time, so Shapiro assumed that only a few minutes had passed from the moment that he was descended upon by Zoey Tur and her crew. Given the strange circumstances that surrounded the adventure up to this point, Shapiro wondered if the events that transpired were erased from time’s memory given that Shapiro was no longer in a paralyzed state.
Fortunately, it took little time to discover an answer. As he walked across the same grassy route that ultimately led to an encounter with Zoey Tur, he ultimately encountered Zoey Tur in the distance, beating up a corpse of Ben Shapiro alongside a crowd of witnesses.
“I see,” Shapiro remarked. “Chika or Dr. Phil must have placed a false mannequin of my likeness in order to disturb the fabric of time as little as possible. Amazing foresight on their end!”
Of course, that illusion was about to be ruined when Ben Shapiro dashed up to Zoey Tur and tapped her shoulder.
“Wow Zoey, I’m amazed at your strength. Where did you get it from?”
With her quick wits, Zoey Tur immediately put together the pieces of the puzzle without a moment of hesitation and swung triumphantly. Shapiro reacted immediately with two backflips, sliding across the turf upon his second landing quite a distance away.
“I don’t know how that corpse over there looks exactly like you, but I’m positive that I’ve got the energy to beat you down one more time.” Zoey yelled.
“Zoey, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. How about we come to another resolution?”
“After all the humiliation and disrespect you showed me on the basis that I identify as another gender? Do you even understand how troubling it was for me to come out of my shell, only to have people like you disregard that courage? And it’s not just me; transgender people all around the world bear witness to your actions!”
Upon further reflection, Shapiro now began to understand how his conduct might have come across as inappropriate or unnecessary. At the time, his only intention was to express his views on the state of gender fluidity and biological sex. That said, it did not excuse the fact that Tur threatened him with violence on live television and had not understood that such actions were also not acceptable. Not to mention, Shapiro still had the facts on his side. Therefore, Shapiro knew he had to settle this in a manner that lacked physical violence, but sent a clear message.
“Alright then,” Shapiro sighed. “Let’s do this one more time.”
He clutched the paper fan in his pocket and twirled it around a few times. Holding it to his side, Shapiro undertook a defensive stance with one leg firmly positioned backwards for maximum durability.
Zur dashed forward with her supreme running form, keeping low to the ground and propelling herself forward with calculated arm movements. The grass below her became torn by the high heels tailored specifically for athletic use. By any estimation, she was running at a speed paralleling a cheetah. As she lunged at him, Shapiro flicked the paper fan in front of his face, creating a powerful turbulence that pushed Zoey backwards with great force. To resist the motion, Zoey plunged her arms into the ground, effectively planting her body.
While it took a few moments, Zoey waited until she managed to regain her composure against the mighty force. She stood up with great sturdiness, almost statue-like, now with a piercing, angry look in her eyes. It managed to quell the paper fan’s wrath, allowing for Zoey to speak triumphantly.
“I might not be able to curbstomp you in these surroundings, but a coordinated effort should do the trick!”
Out of thin air, the crowd that had accompanied Zoey at the beginning teleported their group around Shapiro, ready to surround him at all angles and make escape an impossible option.
“No worries,” Shapiro assured. “I’ll make sure to blow you all away with my next attack.”
With a dancer’s grace, Shapiro spun around his body with the fan, forming a cyclone that trapped its prey within a spinning whirlwind. It was not moving fast enough to cause dizziness, but potent enough to suspend them in the air for a prolonged period of time.
Then Tiffany Moore appeared on the scene, standing firmly in between Shapiro and Zoey. It would be safe to say that in comparison, Zoey did a slightly better job at holding in some of her emotions than Moore was.
“When I beat down your f**king body, I’m going to tell the entire LGBTQ+ community about this incident. You’re just like that punk GameStop employee that misgendered me a few months ago!”
“If by which you mean I sell video games and misgender people, I’d have to dispute that notion.” Shapiro refuted, as he swung his paper fan to the side, blowing Moore into a hammock that caught her comfortably in its wool.
In the timespan that Shapiro had been occupied with the other acquaintances, Zoey Tur had been increasing her power, screaming with great agony to push her limits and unlock the ultimate abilities.
In a flash, Zoey’s hair turned into a radiant crimson. Her aura of energy had expanded and intensified to the extent that her immediate vicinity crumbled under the pressure. Bundles of clouds began to fog the sky, beckoning thunderstorms of great might that touched down upon UC Berkeley with a bang, managing to combust a nearby building.
Unfazed at the chaos, Zoey put her two fists together, forming a massive concentration of energy that swelled in power and size. Lifting it above her head, she began to levitate into the sky, now absorbing the energy of all the people unfortunate to bear witness to this sight, alongside the energy of the natural phenomenon and resources available to the university.
What had once been a bundle of energy the size of a soccer ball now rivaled the size of Nur Alem. It towered above everything imaginable, causing disturbances within the atmosphere and absorbing the available oxygen. And Zoey knew exactly what it was going to target.
“FINAL ATTACK: ZOEY ZOEY COLOSSAL BOMB OF PURE EXTINCTION!” Zoey yelled as she guided the massive energy sphere down upon Shapiro.”
Shapiro looked up, genuinely impressed at the attack that Zoey Tur managed to conjure. With this unquestionably serving as the final clash, Shapiro had one more ace up his sleeve. He lifted up the paper fan as high as possible within the air, allowing it to soak in some of the powerful energy within the atmosphere before he brought the fan behind his back.
“GALEFORCE OF LOGICAL EXTREME!” Shapiro bellowed as he swung the paper fan like a finely-tuned sword. In its place, a roaring blast of wind in the shape of a blade cut its way through the energy ball like a slice of butter, splitting its remnants cleanly in half. It managed to find its way to Zoey Tur, blasting her out of the sky in a breathtaking fashion. It was also powerful enough to blast away all perilous weather in the blink of an eye, allowing the sun to return to its rightful place, and it smoldered the sole fire instigated by the thunderstorm . The remains of the energy attack also returned to their original sources, restoring the vigor of the people that had lost consciousness from the affair.
And as Zoey Tur fell gracefully from the sky, Ben Shapiro had one more task. He dashed as fast as he could, sliding across the grass at the last second to catch Zoey Tur in his arms.
She had not lost consciousness from the brute of Shapiro’s attack, likely because the protection of the aura had counteracted its brute impact. Regardless, she had fallen asleep. Her eyes seemingly rested and unscathed, a tiny smile remained on her face against it all. Laying her body gently on the grass, Shapiro knew that this raging conflict had come to an end. As he looked around, students had returned to their daily affairs, unable to remember the catastrophic circumstances that had dominated the campus moments earlier, whether it be studying for the chemical engineering test or smoking some weed with friends. In the best interest of Shapiro, that meant he could perform his speech to his audience without fearing the repercussions of the skirmish that occurred earlier.
But he couldn’t leave without a few parting words for Zoey Tur, even if her ears would not bear witness to them.
“We might not agree on transgender issues. We might not ever see eye-to-eye on the parameters of what constitutes our humanity. Yet that should not stop us from resolving our conflicts peacefully and expressing our ideas to the rest of the world. As you will continue to be an advocate for transgender rights, I will continue to advocate for conservatism. It might be best that we do not encounter each other again, but I do wish you farewell on your endeavors.”
And with that, Shapiro got up and continued his walk towards the facility that his speech would be conducted at. His humbling adventures of the day had been some of the most iconic moments of his entire life, but the opportunities to encourage change continued to motivate him day after day. It was another day in the life Ben Shapiro, and it would be a worthwhile one at that.
But he did have to admit one more thing before he crossed through the auditorium doors to greet his audience.
“Okay, that was epic.”