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The Truth of Rand Paul
By Dio ·
The night was blisteringly cold. There, nestled in a small clearing among the trees, stood a solitary cabin, sturdy and built with expert craftsmanship. Through the fogged window of its dormer, the faint glow of a crackling fire flickered against the glass. Warmth filled the room, and passion hung thick in the air.
In an old leather recliner sat Ron Paul, with Ayn Rand perched upon his lap.
“Ron,” Ayn whispered, “what shall we name him?”
Ron gazed solemnly into the fire. After a long silence, he turned to her.
“Rand.”
Ayn’s eyes widened. “Rand Paul…”
“It’s perfect.”
She rested her head against his chest.
“But no one can ever know. Our love is cursed, Ron. It must remain our secret.”
Ron held her closer.
Across the room, their newborn began to cry.
“End the Fed,” Ron whispered.