The World Sighs with Relief at News that Hegseth Has Died

 By The Infidel Cowboys (Lusk, Wyoming)

The following is a work of “fan fiction.”

On July 24, 2026, Hegseth was found dead in a stall in a barn in Kentucky. His skull showed evidence of blunt force trauma. News of his death was met with a mix of indifference and a sigh of relief. Nevertheless, there was some curiosity regarding the cause of his demise. The discovery of his journal, I Am a Warrior: My Domination of the Animal Kingdom, alongside his testosterone advocacy for U.S. soldiers to maintain the “leading edge of lethality” have generated much speculation regarding what transpired in the Bluegrass State. 

Hegseth’s journal was filled with cryptic notes, symbols, drawing of animals, and photos of his tattoos and his penis. On every page, the phrase Deus vult (God wills) was written, just as it was tattooed on his right bicep, with hand drawn images of the Jerusalem cross. He carried his right-wing Christian nationalist beliefs on his body and in his private thoughts, believing that he was a chosen one, moral in the eyes of God and above his fellow creatures. He hated feminism and the prospects of equality. He feared the democratic process. His hateful ideas were scrawled across the pages, as an exercise for the nonsense he stated in public. On several pages, he had a tally sheet, where he kept track of the women he had “fucked,” noting the dates and how he felt about his “conquests.” His infidelities were widely documented and contributed to his failed marriages, yet he strutted like a peacock, thinking he was special. As a self-described “nice guy,” he thought it was perfectly fine for him to sexually assault women. His disgusting behavior led his own mother to claim that he was “an abuser of women,” yet Fox News and her son quickly forced her to recant her statement and to claim that he had changed. 

Dozens of pages in the diary were filled with symbols, such as the Walmart Spark and arrows, alongside a list of various animals. In a column on a few pages, one word was repeated—Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat—on every line. Eventually, more details were included: Cat (Black), Cat (Ginger), Cat (Gray), Cat (Calico). Then the list started to vary, filled with types of dogs— Pomeranian, Poodle, Bulldog, Retriever, Labrador, German Shepherd. Following this, the list of animals varied between cats, dogs, sheep, and pigs. Next to the name of each animal, the Spark appeared with an arrow, two arrows, or three arrows hitting the center of the symbol. 

Investigators studied this section of the journal for a couple days, followed by reading his entries, where he made numerous declarations regarding his dominion over nature, especially all its animals. They determined that this list was another tally sheet. Here Hegseth was recording the types of animals and number of times he had sexual relations with these creatures. The arrows penetrating each Spark next to name of an animal detailed the bestiality. At first, there was some skepticism regarding this conclusion, but at the back of the warrior journal there was key, which unlocked a box filled with photographs of a familiar penis and Hegseth’s tattooed arm constraining God’s creatures.  

The medical examiner hesitated to release the findings, but decided the truth must be known. She provided a detailed report, noting how Hegseth died from a swift kick from the horse that accompanied him in the stall, knocking him off the stairs that he climbed to rape the equine. A horseshoe imprint was clearly visible on Hegseth’s cranium. Blood saturated the hay that surrounded his naked body. His shriveled penis, which he seemed so obsessed with in his journal, was unremarkable. 

While many people snickered at the devious activities of Hegseth, the majority recognized him as a dangerous scumbag and were pleased that he finally got his due. The musician Willi Carlisle immediately wrote a song celebrating the horse’s precision kick, embodying the “leading edge of lethality.”

A Few Songs for a Night in Austin

By Jack Stephen

I met up with one of my oldest friends in Austin. We hung out at St. Elmo Brewery in South Austin; it is a cool scene in a great part of town. Austin used to be all about 6th street and all that nonsense. We used to check out some Texas blues act at the time-honored Joes Generic Bar, which was always fun. Tonight at St. Elmo, it was The Lost Pines bluegrass band. They were freaking solid. It had been a minute since I had seen some live music, so I was especially enthusiastic. The band consisted of an acoustic guitar, fiddle, mandolin, and standup bass. The musicians were killer. I’m not sure who was my favorite; it was a close race between the mandolin and the fiddle player. The musicians were so good they made it look easy, and they were sure having a nice time. 

What song did they play when we sat down? “Ain’t No Trouble to Me” by Guy Clark.

I thought this was a pretty good selection, as it is a fun song blistered by some great lyrics. Guy was one of those great country artists who not only wrote a number of songs covered by all kinds of artists, but he was also a mentor who helped launch a number of other great artists (see Steve Earle for example). My buddy threw the band a tip and requested they play his favorite fiddle song “Orange Blossom Special,” written by Ervin T. Rouse in 1938. I guess it features a pretty amazing fiddle part. Unfortunately, The Lost Pines didn’t know that one. Didn’t really matter, they were crushing.

What song was playing in the bathroom? “Big Iron” by Marty Robbins.

As I relieved myself, I thought about how this was the deep country cut I didn’t see coming. I recalled that I have his album Gunslinger Ballads and Trail Songs, featuring this gem and many others. Marty had a fantastic voice. Don’t forget about the musicians he played with, the guitar player rips on “Big Iron” and other tracks. As I walked out, I was kind of thinking about requesting “Big Iron” to The Lost Pines as a possible song choice, but figured I should just enjoy what they were playing.

What song did they play when I sat back down? “Queen of Hearts” by Juice Newton.

As they prepared to play, getting set on the right key and whatnot, the mandolin player remarked “it’s time for the top of the 1980s.” He wasn’t kidding. This song went to number two on the Billboard 100 for a couple of weeks in 1981. It is one of those tracks where I really have no idea what is being talked about, but I sure have a fun time singing along to it. I figured I better get us another couple of those frozen Mangoritas, which seemed prudent at this point. I sang, “blame it on the Queen of Hearts, though it isn’t very smart,” as I moseyed back from the bar. 

A Couple of Songs for a Show at a Sushi Bar

By Jack Stephen

I had a show in Denver, Colorado, at a Sushi Hai. This restaurant, close to the intersection of 32nd Avenue and Lowell Boulevard, is in a super cool area, which was bustling for happy hour on a Thursday. I wandered into Meade St. Provisions to grab something to eat before the show. The restaurant was a great spot, albeit expensive. It was thirty dollars for a “craft” turkey and cheese sandwich and a “craft” lemonade. Wowszer! Nonetheless, the soul-funk playing in the background was solid.  

What memorable song were they playing? “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)” by Michael Jackson.

It’s almost impossible for people of my era to talk about the influential music of their formative years without mentioning Michael Jackson. While Michael was not the first Black artist played on MTV, he might as well have been (see the fun track “Pass the Dutchie”). It seemed like “Billie Jean” was played every 10 minutes or so. Next, we had “Beat It” on heavy rotation followed by the world changing “Thriller” video. Michael had many other awesome tracks and let’s not forget those great dance moves. Michael was mostly produced by Quincy Jones, who pivoted from his odd Jazz projects (see “Walking in Space”) to producer extraordinaire. Quincy and Michael formed what seemed like the perfect confluence of producer with artist, aligned with medium and Zeitgeist (the rise of MTV).   

Things began to turn for Michael perhaps starting with getting burned in the Pepsi commercial.  It was fairly clear at that point that the wheels were starting to fall off his superstar train. What followed was the horror of all the plastic surgery, and the weird relationships/pregnancy stuff (anybody remember “Blanket”?). And now, we are more than aware of his astounding predatory pedophilia. What was he thinking about singing “P.Y.T.”! How are we supposed to feel now that we know this superstar icon of our teens was actually a monster? It’s not just Michael either, there are endless examples (i.e., Harvey Weinstein, Paul Gauguin, etc.). Even though he probably had a preteen sex slave chained up in his Neverland ranch, is it okay to still think MJ had incredible music? I’m thinking maybe it isn’t our fault, there were plenty of people who probably knew about his predilections but looked the other way seeing this once in a generation talent and the massive dollar signs on the horizon (Quincy Jones?). I can’t ignore the great art people have made in a variety of mediums over time. I just wish someone could have given us a heads up. I suppose this is easier said than done. Regardless, “P.Y.T.” is a great song and there’s so many others, such as “Off the Wall,” “The Girl Is Mine,” and “Human Nature.” Also, don’t forget he wrote and was the catalyst for “We Are the World,” which was such an amazing idea!  Do famous musicians (artists) do things like that anymore? I mean amazing, incredible things and awful things as well?  

I was killing time walking around trying to get my head right for the show and I stumbled into Wax Trax records. What an incredible record store! I used to frequent the original Wax Trax on Capitol Hill, and I don’t remember it being this cool. I wish I had about two hours to thumb through the stacks. It was busy, customers were milling around and walking out with records! Screw you online music, vinyl is alive. I found myself checking out some Iron Maiden and would have liked to make a purchase, but $50 for a re-issue is…wowszer! I decided not to make a purchase, mostly because between the Iron Maiden and the turkey sandwich, I would have been down $80 and hadn’t even told a joke yet! 

At the show venue, in the basement of the Sushi Bar, I caught up with the other comics on the show. One of the comics also performs as a clown, another leads a Jewish women’s book study on “The Artists Way,” another had LSD for sale, and another, a last minute addition to the show, said when she got the late text to join the lineup she had just done a DAB and had broke out her vibrator, but didn’t have time because she had to get to the show! Comics are the best! 

What would have been a good walkup song for me? “Rock with You” by Michael Jackson.

Favorite Albums in 2025

 By Alec

1: Pile, Sunshine and Balance Beams.

2: Wednesday, Bleeds.

3: Prostitute, Attempted Martyr.

4: Geese, Getting Killed.

5: La Armada, De Vuelta a la Barbarie.

6: Jason Isbell, Foxes In the Snow.

7: Anna Tivel, Animal Poem.

8: Militarie Gun, God Save the Gun.

9: Shellac, To All Trains.

10: Willi Carlisle, Winged Victory.

11: Kal Marks, Wasteland Baby.

12: Flory, Sounds Like…

13: Palmyra, Restless.

14: Dave Alvin, From an Old Guitar: Rare and Unreleased Recordings.

15: Renny Conti, Renny Conti.

The Night Cheryl Eviscerated Kennedy

By SoDak

The following is a work of “fan fiction.”

Cheryl stood in the middle of her bedroom, relishing the euphoric moment. Glancing around the room, she saw her reflection in the mirror. She was covered in blood; flecks of skin and slices of intestine were matted in her nightgown. A smile of satisfaction appeared, as she contemplated how this moment came to be, wondering if her act would inspire others.

As a mediocre actress at best, Cheryl was mostly known for saying, “Larry.” Her performances were generally forgettable, leaving many to wonder how she ever received acting roles. In December 2011, Larry introduced Cheryl to Kennedy. Throughout the night, Cheryl and Kennedy talked about chemtrails, antivaccination campaigns, HIV/AIDS denialism, raw milk, tanning beds, testosterone shots, and his conviction for heroin possession, for which he received two years of probation. He constantly mentioned that “it’s good to be rich,” as he was able to do anything that he wanted without real consequences, at least for him anyhow. As the evening progressed, Kennedy acted as if he was a rutting elk, grunting between his stories, leaning into Cheryl to bump midsections. Those bearing witness to this emerging courtship, pondered whether one or both had previously been kicked in the head by a horse—this could explain Kennedy’s general stupidity and Cheryl’s horrible acting and lack of awareness that she was falling in love with a jackass.

Following their matrimony in 2014, Cheryl continued to be known, well, for not really doing anything notable and worthwhile. Kennedy seized every platform available to spew bullshit and misinformation, which found an audience as many in the United States embraced reactionary politics. Together, they stood, as Kennedy was sworn in as the Secretary of Health and Human Services, only to systematically dismantle the public health infrastructure and usher in policies that will result in the deaths of fellow citizens. When Attorney General Pam Bondi dismissed charges against Kirk Moore, a physician in Utah, for falsifying COVID-19 vaccination cards (medical records) and discarding government-supplied vaccines, Kennedy proclaimed that Moore should be given a medal for his courage and commitment to healing. Within the inverted world, social murderers rallied around each other, declaring that they were promoting freedom, while they created the conditions that directly led to the premature deaths of the most vulnerable. 

Amidst the ongoing developments of neofascism and rearguard mobilization, Cheryl simply smiled for the cameras and defended her husband. At the same time, she wanted to rekindle her dying career. Most of her colleagues did not want to associate with her given her close connections with the stormtroopers. However, she did get one offer, in which she would play the choir teacher in a reboot of Glee. She couldn’t sing, but that did not really matter, as this would add to the follies, in what was sure to be another subpar series. Nevertheless, Cheryl hoped other acting jobs would follow. She told Kennedy about the offer. He nodded his approval, while chewing on a nicotine pouch, as he prepared to inject some testosterone—he was ready to rut, yet again, so he started grunting indecipherable words, thinking he was a desired trophy.

Several weeks later, Cheryl was excited when she received the script for the pilot. She quickly thumbed through the pages, reading her lines. She paused when she saw that she had to sing a mashup. She was familiar with the Dixie Chick’s “Goodbye Earl,” but thought it was an odd selection for a television series. This song was paired with another by Cannibal Corpse, “Evisceration Plague.” “What is this? What a horrible name? I have never heard of them.” She remained nervous about having to sing, but she was filled with consternation about not knowing one of the songs. Terrified about messing up this chance to be back on television, she decided that she had to learn the songs and practice the mashup.

Cheryl first listened to “Goodbye Earl” over and over, reading the lyrics. She hummed along to the upbeat song, memorizing the words about how the wife, along with her friend, poisons her abusive husband and dumps him in the lake. From time to time, she chuckled, thinking about how the husband was despised by everyone. “It’s kind of clever,” she remarked to herself after practicing it for a week. Cheryl took a deep breath, as she contemplated listening to and learning the next song. She looked up the record online, downloading it onto her phone. She grimaced when she saw the frightening figures on the cover, “what the hell have I gotten myself into?” Hesitantly, Cheryl played the song. The mid-tempo, thick riffs fill the air. She shuttered and stopped the song once Corpsegrinder’s guttural growl started. “What the fuck?” Shaking her head, she paced the halls, “how I am supposed to pull this off? It is frightening.” As she steeled courage, she returned to the song, determined she needed to learn the lyrics, figuring the mashup would involve her singing “normally.” Unable to decipher the vocals, she read the opening lines:

Experimental pathogens, a devil’s design

The dark side of science breeds a weapon of war

Contagious killing and internal distress

Homicide or suicide will be the cause of death.

Internal organs altered by the disease

Your brain disabled by the constant pain

Erratic actions lead my thoughts to the blade

I’ve lost control, I've lost control.

“Jesus Christ, what is this about.” She started to sweat, wondering if she could pull this off and what it would mean for her career. After a few passes through the lyrics, she settled into the rhythmic delivery and started to hear the words within the song itself. She nodded her head to the chugging riffs. With renewed confidence, she returned to the script to see how the mashup was put together. The writers titled it, “The Evisceration of Earl,” starting off with the Chicks, leading to Cannibal Corpse, with a little back and forth at towards the end. Musically, the mashup primarily followed “Goodbye Earl,” but it was more foreboding and got more intense, as the song progressed.  

Mary Anne and Wanda were the best of friends

All through their high school days

Both members of the 4H Club

Both active in the FFA.

After graduation, Mary Anne went out

Lookin’ for a bright new world

Wanda looked all around this town

And all she found was Earl.

Well, it wasn’t two weeks after she got married

That Wanda started getting abused

She put on dark glasses and long-sleeved blouses

And make-up to cover a bruise.

Well, she finally got the nerve to file for divorce

She let the law take it from there

But Earl walked right through that restraining order

And put her in intensive care.

Right away, Mary Anne flew in from Atlanta

On a red eye midnight flight

She held Wanda's hand as they worked out a plan

And it didn't take’em long to decide

That Earl had to die.

Goodbye Earl (na-na-na-na-na)

We need a break.

Internal organs altered by the disease

Your brain disabled by the constant pain

Erratic actions lead my thoughts to the blade

I’ve lost control, I’ve lost control.

Beg for your life, you won’t escape the knife

Your fate was sealed today

Disease has spread, you pray for death

Evisceration plague.

Stabbing compulsion overwhelms my mind

Terrorized screaming follows the thrust of my knife

I wrench the blade from the chest to the crotch

Organs and entrails fall to the ground.

Driven to kill, this is not my will

I am compelled to slay

Invisible foe takes control

Evisceration plague.

Unable to be seen but with visible effect

Virulent disease causing outbreaks of violence

They tear themselves apart, offal covers the ground

Viscera torn forcefully from the abdomen.

Goodbye Earl (na-na-na-na-na)

We need a break.

Intestines slick with blood cannot escape my grip

Surgical incisions give way to frenzied carving

Delirium has taken hold, disembowelment is complete

Horror grips my mind, entrails are in my hands.

Goodbye Earl (na-na-na-na-na)

We need a break.

Driven to kill, this is not my will

I am compelled to slay

Invisible foe takes control

Evisceration plague.

Goodbye Earl (na-na-na-na-na)

We need a break.

Hey (na-na-na-na-na)

Well, hey-hey-hey (na-na-na-na-na)

Aw, hey-hey-hey (na-na-na-na-na)

Well, hey-hey-hey (na-na-na-na-na)

Na-na-na.

By the time of rehearsal, Cheryl knew every word. With renewed confidence, she embodied the song, making the performance visceral. She found that she was singing the song when she was not at work. She mauled over the arrangement and words, thinking about her husband; it was as if the veil had been lifted. “He truly is a piece of shit—a horrible, disgusting human being.” At the White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner, he did not give her a second thought, as he was rushed to “safety,” leaving her “unprotected.” That evening, he took a blue pill and some testosterone, grunting at her, thinking his erection was a cure for her displeasure. Turning her back, she walked down the hall to lock herself in a spare room, pondering what to do about the “fucking pig” she had married.

Over the next several months, she filmed the pilot, impressing all who saw her act. However, the truly impressive performance was at home, where she pretended to care about what her husband had to say, nodding along to his rambling. On the night when the episode was to air, she skipped the viewing party with the cast. Kennedy and Cheryl snuggled in bed, watching the show. Following the mashup, Kennedy was worried. What would his powerful chums think? Why was Cheryl so passionate in this performance? Why was she mouthing the unsettling words while they were watching the show? What was this song advocating? He turned to ask Cheryl why she agreed to take this role. He was startled to see her smiling, and then he felt extreme pain, as Cheryl drove a knife into his torso, running it “from chest to the crotch,” repeating the action several times as “organs and entrails” fell “to the ground.” With each cut, she sang “Goodbye Kennedy (na-na-na-na-na).”

How John Prine’s Death Broke Me

By Jack Rafferty

I discovered John Prine’s work around 2017, with the track “Angel from Montgomery,” and I still remember that moment well. I was working in the field at the time, and my crew lead put this song on while we were driving through the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. We were navigating a two-track road amid really tall sagebrush, and a jackrabbit darted across the path as the song played. I was floored by the honesty and originality of it, and I knew that I had to seek out more music from him as soon as I could. 

This led me to listening to his self-titled debut in full, not long after, and falling completely in love with it. This is one of the few nearly perfect albums that have been made, in my opinion. The fact that it was his first album is all the more impressive. For about six months, it was the majority of what I listened to, just putting the album on repeat back-to-back as I traveled to Tucson, when I was digging holes in the desert heat for work, and when I was at home, sipping whiskey under a chitalpa tree. I listened to his albums one by one, some better than others, but I always found something to love on each of them. 

Three years later, in the early months of quarantine during the COVID-19 pandemic, John’s songs were what got me out of bed in the morning. I would wake up and grab my phone from the side table to pull up one of his songs, just so I could listen to it while staring at the ceiling trying to find a reason to start the day. His equally serious and unserious approach on the common struggles that humans face, and the humorous yet deeply empathetic way he had of conveying his struggles in his unique songwriting, gave me the strength that I needed to face those hard days. Songs like “Sour Grapes” and “Summer’s End” reflected my overall mood so well that I would simply sit on my porch and play them over and over, while some of his more lighthearted songs, such as “Spanish Pipedream,” “Pretty Good,” “Fish and Whistle,” “Aw Heck,” and so many others were at times the only things that got me through the day. 

I was in a dark place then, as many were. I was waking up and drinking liquor as early as nine in the morning. I was lucky, in that I was able to work from home, and still had a steady income to keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach. Nevertheless, the myriad simultaneous social and ecological crises that worsened daily coupled with the deep alienation of having to quarantine alone for months on end put me in perhaps the worst mental state that I had ever been in. John’s music wasn’t just a minor reprieve from all this, it was an anchor tethering me to humanness in a time of unprecedented isolation and inhumanity. 

I can’t really put into words how hard the news of his passing hit me on April 7, 2020. The fact that he died from COVID made it even more painful. It felt like a close friend who had been holding my hand through all this hardship suddenly slipped away and was gone before I could turn around to see them disappear. I had never felt so emotionally tied to someone I hadn’t personally known before, and I’m sure my mental state during this time compounded this feeling, but I was inconsolable for days after this. I would stand at the kitchen sink and stare out at the sun setting through the city haze, thinking about everything and nothing at once. It was around this time I wrote a poem, which had the lines “windows above the sink / become dull mirrors for unkind thought” as I would spend hours just looking out of that window, until the light became so dim that all I could see was my sullen reflection staring back at me. 

Over the course of weeks and months, I wavered between better and worse, and kept listening to John’s music throughout. It seemed like time stopped having any meaning, and everything started to blur together. I tried to ground myself in little things, in morning coffee, in watching birds, staring at the clouds, short walks. It was only when I connected with my partner later that year that things really improved. The dread of what was happening in the world was still there, but at least I had her. 

I’m very grateful that I made it through this point in my life, and that I was able to stay relatively healthy when many others could not. It is strange to feel like the world has just moved beyond this happening, our employers all clamoring to get us back in the office, back to the rat race, when none of us have had time to properly process or heal from such a collectively traumatic occurrence, which in truth has not fully ended, and has only been swept under the rug to maintain the unending death march of capital. 

I’m in a much better place now, which I owe to my loved ones and community. I still listen to John all the time, practically every day. No matter what is going on in my life, his music is in the background in one way or another. Thankfully, it doesn’t often serve to remind me of those awful times, and rather continues to inspire me to keep my sense of humor, to treat others with kindness, and to have a gentle disposition. When I’m seeking to still the feelings of bitterness and hate that form because of so much in the world that feels like it rips my heart out daily, I turn to John’s music to remind myself of the importance of not losing myself in those feelings, and to remember my love for the people and the natural world. John reminds me to continue being human in conditions that seem increasingly hell bent on tearing what remains of that away from us. John says in “Angel from Montgomery,”

Just give me one thing that I can hold on to

To believe in this living is just a hard way to go 

So I guess this piece is mostly my way of saying thanks to John for giving me one thing that I could hold on to, in a time when I needed it most.