This is my life, and these are my political beliefs.

I believe in two-hour siestas for every working age adult, regardless of employment, and the free exercise of these political beliefs during the workday.

Any infringement of these rights will be met with immediate legal action.

Furthermore, I,________________________, do hereby commit myself to my fellow Slumber Party members and their fight for worker’s rights.

When called to action by the Party, I will join them in the hallways, on the steps, and in the elevators of any workplace that infringes upon our Right to Rest!

As a show of my allegiance to the Party, I,________________________, will wear a Slumber Party Flower during the workday for all to see and will remove it only when I lay down to rest.

Under the covers, we are one!

________________________

(Signature)

________________________

(Date)

🚨 Attention Americans

Has your life become a nightmare?

Are you tired all the time?

Has your sex drive hit the skids?

Do you often find yourself in tears or a rage?

Do you feel like shadowy figures are controlling your every move?

😴 The Truth is Simple: You Aren’t Getting Enough SLEEP!!! 😴

Between kids, schools, jobs, and side hustles…

Who has the time?! ⏰⏰⏰

You are not alone.

The Slumber Party is here to help you

📊 The Facts:

• 44 percent of Americans sleep less than 8 hours a night.

• 31 percent sleep less than 7 hours.

• 16 percent sleep less than 6 hours.

We are exhausted!

🌙 The Slumber Party is the only political party fighting for your Right to Rest®.

Today the Slumber Party is working with the world’s top companies to adopt daily employee nap times.

We are also working with elected officials to pass pro-nap laws at the state and federal level.

Join us Today!

🌟 Wake Up, America. The Slumber Party Wants You to Sleep. 💤

🛌 Looking for a Sleepover in your city? Contact us today.

🚀 New E-Book for Entrepreneurs: A Covert Marketing Primer®

Want to win it all?

I can show you how with my new course, A Covert Marketing Primer: How to Trigger the Curiosity Reflex®.

Hi, I’m Wyatt Duvall, director of Covert Marketing at Diversified Marketing Solutions, and author of A Covert Marketing Primer®.

I turn entrepreneurs into success stories.

I know what you’re thinking:

What is Covert Marketing®?

Great question.

The truth is Covert Marketing can take many forms.

It can be a well-placed sticker on a lamppost.

Or a stencil on the back side of a stop sign.

A discarded flyer face up in a trash can.

One thing that Covert Marketing is not: VANDALISM!

Vandalism is a false art practiced by the vain and the selfish, poor planners and simpletons, the reckless and the criminal.

Covert Marketing is practiced by the determined, the calculating, the creative.

In other words, entrepreneurs!

Like You!!!

To better understand what Covert Marketing is, let’s take a quick look at the first rule of a Covert Marketing campaign.

First of all, a Covert Marketing campaign must Trigger the Curiosity Reflex® of the intended target.

This could be a high-value student reading one of my previous publications.

A rising white-collar warrior seeking to climb the corporate ladder by subscribing to the Covert Accelerator Certificate Program®.

Or an entrepreneur on the way to a power lunch presentation about my latest set of Covert Marketing Omega Courses®.

The possibilities are wide open.

👉 Follow me to learn about the other rules: Avoiding Sightline Fees®, Targeting the Curious®, and Obeying the Gilded Rule®. A Covert Marketing Primer is coming soon.

***

🚀 Diversified Marketing Solutions Celebrates E-Book for Entrepreneurs: A Covert Marketing Primer®

Hi, this is WD again.

Let’s keep this conversation going.

Like a Covert Marketing® campaign itself, the Curiosity Reflex® is difficult to define,

But it can be Triggered by a well-placed sticker on the belly of a crosswalk sign..

Or an email blast to every administrative assistant in a Topeka business park.

A gutter-bound flyer found by a day laborer whose life is about to change for the better.

The hallways of Diversified Marketing Solutions are filled with the formerly Covert Curious®, individuals who turned an Orchestrated Encounter® into a new career and a fulfilling life as a Covert Marketing Covert®.

For the Covert, every health inspection rating, every concert poster, every lost pet sign contains a secret message.

Sometimes it’s even from me.

👉 Follow me WD for other time-tested entrepreneurial tips on Triggering the Curiosity Reflex®. A Covert Marketing Primer is coming soon.

***

🚀 The Secret is Out: Entrepreneurs Everywhere are Reading A Covert Marketing Primer©

WD here.

I’m glad you want to keep this conversation going.

Thanks to my posts, you know about Triggering the Curiosity Reflex®.

So let’s talk about Avoiding Sightline Fees®.

I know, no one likes to talk about them.

But there’s no avoiding it.

Sightline Fees are a part of Covert Marketing® we have to accept.

That being said, high Sightline Fees can cripple a campaign before it starts.

The truth is a Covert Marketing Campaign® can be as cost-conscious as a can of paint, a piece of public property, and a steady hand.

And that’s the physical world.

Find an open WiFi network and you can launch a campaign for free… and under someone else’s IP address.

It’s a win-win situation.

Because Covert Marketing avoids traditional advertorial avenues (TV, newspapers, billboards) in favor of free ad space (telephone poles, social media, public access TV) the financial risks are minimal.

As a result Coverts are able to adapt and develop strategies on the fly without worrying about Sightline Fees.

Sightline Fees… booooooo.

👉 Follow me for more information about how you can turn a Chance Encounter Vector into CA$H®. A Covert Marketing Primer is coming soon.

***

🚀Covert Curious®? Download A Covert Marketing Primer®.

WD here.

Let’s keep the conversation going.

Now that we have discussed those dreadful Eyeball Fees®, let’s talk about Targeting the Curious®.

Look, everyone has experienced the urge to print a million fliers and post them around the city.

(Hello. It’s me.)

But when we do that, we erase any hope of Triggering the Curiosity Reflex® in the Covert Curious®.

Here’s the thing Madison Avenue won’t tell you: The customer isn’t looking to fill a need.

That’s nonsense.

The customers want to be spoken to.

Directly.

Uniquely.

Only.

They want a One-on-One Convertsation®.

Capture their curiosity, and you’ve won them already.

👉 We cover this topic and more in my one-night-only webinar, Covert Marketing and the Law of Overexposure® next week. Register now.

***

🚀 See Why Entrepreneurs are Reading A Covert Marketing Primer®

Wake up, America!®

WD here.

Sorry for my excitement.

We’re working on a really cool project at Diversified Marketing Solutions, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

Now where were we?

Oh yeah…

Let’s keep the Convertsation going.

Today’ topic is the Guilded Rule: Stealth is Wealth®.

Ask any Covert® what their worst fear is.

Chances are it’s being spotted on a job

While embarrassing to the Covert, being seen compromises the success of a campaign.

A Convert Curious® who comes across a sticker via an Orchestrated Encounter® is more likely to have his or her Curiosity Reflex® triggered than a Covert Curious who sees a flesh and blood Covert in action.

The key here is curiosity.

What does it mean?

Why is it here?

What manner of man or woman did this?

The image of a Covert must remain a mystery in order to Trip the Inspiration Nerve®.

👉 Follow me for a free subscription to the Orchestrated Encounters®: Live Cam®. A Covert Marketing Primer is coming soon.

Most ads are loud and in your face.

But the most effective ones are hidden in the shadows.

You will find that business tip and more in my upcoming e-book A Covert Marketing Primer^©: How to Trigger the Curiosity Reflex of the Consumer, a field guide for self-starters who want to be superstars without stepping into the light.

In the book, I explore the Four Pillars of Covert Marketing^© and how to Trigger the Curiosity Reflex^©, the instinct that makes passersby stop, stare, and wonder WTF.

👉 Follow me for more tips and news about the release of A Covert Marketing Primer.

An excerpt from A Serviceable Villain: The Lives and Times of Wyatt Duvall

During Wyatt Duvall’s senior year at North Woods High School, the average SAT score dropped 350 points, and the forensics team failed to qualify for the regional debate championship for the first time since the school was founded in 1975.

At the time, no one knew Duvall was responsible. But in his second memoir Archmotherf#ker: A Portrait of an Asshole as a Young Man, Duvall confessed.

He writes:

“The stench in the A Hall boys room was so foul we held our breaths every time we entered.

We stuck socks in our mouths.

We vomited beforehand just to mask the smell.

If you were one of the brave who could make it to a urinal, it was best if you didn’t look in the bowl.

Cigarette butts.

Bubble gum.

Fingernails.

Ping-pong ball sized balls of phlegm.

Semen soaked detention slips.

And shit.

All of it.

Ever.

In one place.

As for the aluminum trashcan in the right-hand corner of the boys room, it had not been emptied in the 47-year history of North Woods High.

The trash can was a a rupture zit of half-eaten bologna sandwiches, fish sticks, and progress report ass wipes.

Sometimes the sound of the can’s creaking metal covered up the sound of flatulent rats and gurgling toilets.

Most of the time it didn’t.

Every bloodstain on the floor had a story to sell.

Every cum-filled rubber was a 38-afterschool special.

Every pubic-hair tumbleweed was a very important episode of Family Blessings.

As fate would have it, one day I was standing at the middle sink.

The one filled with rancid chocolate milk

Waterlogged cheese puffs.

Four retainers.

And a jawbreaker-sized plug of flesh and fat that had been bitten from Colton Caldwell’s right ear.

It got lodged in the sink, and no one bothered to unclog it.

The rest just piled on top.

As I stood there, reading the bathroom scribbles.

Noting how hollow boasts were twisted into crude sexual innuendos and ultimately racial slurs.

I realized had to get out of South Woods and head somewhere else, somewhere better.

And I knew just how to do it.

The next day I cut my wrists in the gym shower.

I was rushed to the hospital and put under psychiatric care.

I got better and weeks later I was released.

My therapist thought it would be best if I transferred to another school.

I did: North Woods High.

Once I was settled in, I got to work.

On Oct. 15 I took nine printouts to the boys’ bathroom on the ninth grade hall.

I put two over the sinks, one over each of the three stalls, and four for each urinal.

The message was simple but direct:

“Urinals and toilets broken. Please use sink.”

Chaos spread from there.

By Jenny Hills

Boulder, Colo. — Claudine Galveston tried to protect her son Jack from the evils of the world.

She bought organic foods.

No sodas.

No sweetened breakfast cereal.

No potato chips.

She steered Jack away from Hollywood and the Internet. His entertainment choices were free of nudity, cursing, and lewd or crude behavior.

And she tried to protect him from the influence of secular ideas. Darwin and Freud, Marx and Seuss — they could not be found in her house.

But during a routine search of her youngest son’s clothes for drugs, Galveston came face-to-face with her biggest fear.

She had failed.

Inside of Jack’s pants pocket, this Boulder mother had found a thumbtack-sized ball of lint.

Frantically, she began to search the pockets of all of Jack’s clothes. Each investigation only confirmed her deepest fears: more and more lint, enough to fill a small salt shaker.

Her son had fallen under the sinister spell of the newest high to sweep the nation: dryer lint smoking.

Like many Americans, Galveston was unaware of the dangers lurking in her laundry room until she heard about from a neighbor.

“Nothing prepared me for this. How am I supposed to protect my babies?” Galveston asks through tears.

A recent Texas Institute of Technology study claims America’s teens have greater access to dryer lint than alcohol and marijuana.

According to the report, an astonishing 87 percent of all teens polled said they had unsupervised access to a dryer, while only 58 and 41 percent said they had access to alcohol and marijuana, respectively.

While many are shocked by the figures, the man who popularized dryer lint-smoking, Wyatt Duvall, is surprised for different reasons.

“Why are the numbers so low?” asks Duvall, the owner of Wyatt Sheets, a chain of laundromats. “I don’t know about you, but I think clean clothes rank up there with adequate shelter and regular meals.”

Duvall adds, “That’s why test scores are down. I mean, who can concentrate on the Pythagorean Theorem when Lucy Landfill is sitting next to them?”

Despite the efforts being made by educators, the number of lint heads grow.

The anti-lint group ReLINTless is urging school boards across the national to adopt dryer lint education programs.

“We must abandon preconceived notions of the laundry room. It’s not a clean place. It’s a den of soiled clothes and soiled souls,” says Jay Hamilton, president of ReLINTless.

Hamilton, however, acknowledges the uphill battle faced by parents and educators. The reason: dryer lint smoking is legal.

“If we hope to stop the spread of this problem, we must apply the hot iron of justice to this wrinkle in the law,” he says. “There is no more pressing issue in this country today.”

To combat the growing threat, some families are resorting to drastic tactics.

“We no longer have a washer and dryer in our house,” says Ricky Marconi, an architect at the firm of Marconi + Marchant. “We send all of our clothes to the cleaners.”

Marconi adds, “It’s more expensive, but it’s a small price to pay to protect our children.”

Unfortunately, some parents can’t.

“I wash all of our clothes by hand now, and I hang them on the line,” says Gabby Slaughter, a Boulder mother raising her one-year-old daughter, Elizabeth.

Sadly, Slaughter has seen the effects of dryer lint abuse firsthand. She was a lint head.

“Sometimes I’d go through five, maybe six rolls of quarters a day,” Slaughter says. “One time the cops found me in a dryer covered in dryer sheets. The door was shut, and it was set to high. I could have died.”

Before she began abusing dryer lint, Slaughter got pregnant by a vendor who serviced the snack machines at Wyatt Sheets. He introduced Slaughter to smoking dryer lint.

“He always had plenty of change in his pocket and the inside track on all the laundromats in town,” Slaughter says. “We called him the Maytag man.”

Their relationship ended one night when Slaughter caught him at one of their favorite haunts. He was helping another woman fold her clothes.

Months later, Slaughter gave birth. “I was pushing, but Elizabeth wouldn’t budge,” Slaughter says. “The doc said it was static cling.”

Eventually, the doctor performed a C-section, and Elizabeth was born undersized.

“I’ve seen it happen to wool sweaters, but I didn’t know a baby could shrink like that,” Slaughter says, tears welling up in her eyes.

Months later, Elizabeth has reached average weight and size. The only indication she was born a lint baby is the light blue tint to her skin. Doctors say it will fade over time.

As for Slaughter herself, life is as fresh and new as a spring day in the pine-scented mountains. “My clothes may be dirty, but my body is clean. I’m finally free from the lint trap.”

For Claudine Galveston, her troubles are far from over.

Her son Jack is at a treatment camp where he is getting help for his addiction.

Until the day he is released, Galviston stays at home and prays for his return and her redemption.

Subject: FWD: FWD: URGENT: AMERICA’S CHILDREN IN DANGER

To: Undisclosed

My fellow JLA members.

My son recently received this letter. Reading it sent a chill up my spine. I am shocked by the lengths Satan will go to ensnare our children.

The truth about this scholarship program needs to be distributed to congregations across the state.

Through prayer and unwavering faith, I’m confident the Lord will guide us in our efforts to stop to Satan.

“Do not be deceived! The Devil walks among us!!!”

Sincerely,

Henrietta Little

Treasurer, JLA

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact:

Wyatt Duvall

President and CEO

Wyatt Duvall Live Savers Scholarship

wyattduvall@gmail.com

The Future Abortionists of America (FAA) have announced the creation of the Wyatt Duvall Life Savers Scholarship, which will reward over $1.5 million in scholarships to high school students in interested in a career in the science of embryo extraction.

“The Wyatt Duvall Life Savers Scholarship campaign is our way of contributing to the future prosperity of this great nation,” says Wyatt Duvall, chairman of the FAA. “By helping incoming college students in their quest for education, we hope to ensure America’s abortionists remain the most highly qualified and skilled professionals in the world.”

“By working to ensure the prosperity of our children,” Duvall says, “the Future Abortionists of America are showing the nation what it means to be pro-life.”

Students interested in this new and exciting program can contact Wyatt Duvall at wyattduvall@gmail.com to receive an information packet.

Important: Only current seniors are eligible for this scholarship.

Subject: FWD: FWD: URGENT: AMERICA’S CHILDREN IN DANGER

To: Undisclosed

My fellow JLA members.

My son recently received this letter. Reading it sent a chill up my spine. I am shocked by the lengths Satan will go to ensnare our children.

The truth about this scholarship program needs to be distributed to congregations across the state.

Through prayer and unwavering faith, I’m confident the Lord will guide us in our efforts to stop to Satan.

“Do not be deceived! The Devil walks among us!!!”

Sincerely,

Henrietta Little

Treasurer, JLA

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact:

Wyatt Duvall

President and CEO

Wyatt Duvall Live Savers Scholarship

wyattduvall@gmail.com

The Future Abortionists of America (FAA) have announced the creation of the Wyatt Duvall Life Savers Scholarship, which will reward over $1.5 million in scholarships to high school students in interested in a career in the science of embryo extraction.

“The Wyatt Duvall Life Savers Scholarship campaign is our way of contributing to the future prosperity of this great nation,” says Wyatt Duvall, chairman of the FAA. “By helping incoming college students in their quest for education, we hope to ensure America’s abortionists remain the most highly qualified and skilled professionals in the world.”

“By working to ensure the prosperity of our children,” Duvall says, “the Future Abortionists of America are showing the nation what it means to be pro-life.”

Students interested in this new and exciting program can contact Wyatt Duvall at wyattduvall@gmail.com to receive an information packet.

Important: Only current seniors are eligible for this scholarship.

I have lived a thousand lives.

I have died a thousand deaths.

I have suffered a thousand triumphs and a thousand tragedies.

I have been drawn and quartered.

I have been hung.

I have been stoned.

Mostly stoned.

Like for the last 15 years, four months, and 17 days.

And during that drug-induced trance, I saw how I came to be, including the day I was born into this snuff film we call life.

I was born on the Filth of July in the middle of a small Southern college town.

In the middle of a football stadium.

In the middle of the muck and mud and mirth and mayhem of an Unwashed Masses show.

A minstrel stain on the perfume-scented silk panties of rock history.

A partial-birth abortion of needless jamming and cock-polishing pan-African rhythms.

When I close my eyes and fall asleep, I see my arrival as it happened.

My mother was spread eagle on a mud-stained beach towel, her tie-dyed dress pulled up over her round belly, as my father drove into her swollen cunt.

Every other thrust, he rammed his dick into the mud before sticking it in.

Neither seemed to notice.

And if they did, neither cared.

And neither did anyone else around them.

They danced and danced as the Unwashed Masses played their signature song, “Uncle Tom’s Band.”

The air was a fog of pot smoke and patchouli, and the ground was a bog of foot funk, crotch sweat, and leaking amniotic fluid.

Or at least it was around my mother and father as they fucked in the mud.

I don’t know if it was the drugs or the miscarriage of music, but the crowd mistook my mother’s contractions for orgasms and their chemical codependency for love.

And it was into this world I was born.

My birth came fast.

I recall a dick in my mouth.

And then a baptismal mud bath.

As the oblivious dancers pushed me deeper down.

I swallowed sod.

I breathed worms.

I huffed the entire 50-yard line.

And then suddenly, I was torn from the soil.

By whom I don’t know.

I looked down at my parents.

My father was still fucking mud and my mother was pulling at the umbilical cord that attached me to her.

She kept saying, “Be free pretty balloon. Be free.”

She took a bite.

And another.

Then she began to rip and tear at the cord like a vulture until I was free.

But I wasn’t.

I was imprisoned in hell.

The drugs were just starting to take hold as the dancers began to pass me around.

One to one.

Overhead.

I traveled the length of the field back and forth four times before a security guard noticed I was a baby, not a beach ball.

That day, I learned all I needed to know about people.

And all needed to know about love.

If this was peace and harmony, then I wanted no part of it.

If this was mankind at his best, then I would have to embrace the worst.

The human race deserved no better.

By Timothy Long

(Knight-Rider) Lincoln, Neb. — Wiley Wright once walked the halls of Northeast High School with a cheerful smile on her face. Now she hides her once beautiful smile behind a mask.

Last year, a small growth was removed from her lower lip. The goal: to stop the cancer from spreading to her mouth. The strategy is working.

Wright, 17, is yet another victim of smokeless tobacco even though she has never taken as much as a pinch of dip.

The same doesn’t apply to her boyfriend “Carl.”

Carl is an avid consumer of smokeless tobacco.

On average, he consumes three cans a day.

“I wasn’t too worried about myself,” Carl says with a boyish smile.

“My granddaddy did it, and my daddy did it, and they didn’t get mouth cancer, so I figured I was okay.”

He has been. So far.

When discussing the unsuspected consequences of his habit, Carl looks down at the ground, brings a hand to his eyes, and wipes away a tear.

“How was I to know she was going to get cancer?” he asks.

Indeed.

The first studies into a link between “second-hand dip spit” and cancer have only recently begun. So far, there have been no published results.

“We’ve known for some time there was a correlation between smokeless tobacco and cancer, but only recently have we even considered this possibility,” says Dr. Jay Hamilton, chief researcher at the Texas Institute of Technology.

The tobacco travels from one party to the other through the mixing of saliva associated with deep, or French-style, kissing, Hamilton says. The tobacco particles then settle in the cheek or gum of the unsuspecting, non-dipping party.

Despite the dangers, Hamilton says there is no cause for individuals dating dippers to be alarmed as long as they follow a few rules.

“One is abstaining from deep-mouth kissing,” Hamilton says, “and the other is maintaining good dental hygiene.”

Educators, however, fear for their students.

Larry Doggett is principal of Northeast High in Lincoln, where at least three students have suffered snuff-related illnesses. He knows educators have their work cut out for them.

“The government can stop convenience stores from selling tobacco to minors, and schools can ban tobacco, there’s little we can do to stop teenage dating,” Doggett says.

One school, however, may have done just that.

Tracy Griggs, principal of Westside High, has not only forbidden all public displays of affection between students, she has asked them to sign a contract promising to forgo dating until graduation.

“So far we haven’t seen any measurable results, but we are confident the dating ban is having a positive impact on the health of our students,” she says. “It has to.”

Some student flaunt the rules. Says Westside High student Ben Williams, “Sure, I signed the contract, and so did everybody else I know, but that doesn’t stop us from hooking up.”

Some students have even begun to seek out life-and-death thrills, according to Williams.

“It’s pretty normal for couples to split a can of snuff, take a dip, make out for a bit, and then swap dips,” Williams says. “It brings them closer together.”

He adds, “I haven’t done it yet because my girlfriend’s scared, but I think I can talk her into it.”

Hamilton says the first study on the link between secondhand dip and cancer will be published next year.

We must tell the truth about You Know Who

By Wyatt Duvall

Washington could not tell a lie. Honest Abe was always honest. And when Jefferson penned the Declaration of Independence, he wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident.”

Today, I write to you speaking an undeniable truth: Santa Claus is a lie.

And we the people must address this grievous hoax.

For our children, for our future, for the very principles upon which this nation was founded.

We must abandon this fiction.

The reindeer.

The naughty and nice list.

The toy factory at the North Pole.

They are the creations of marketers and manipulators, egomaniacs and malcontents, demons who deceive.

And the white-bearded devil is the worst.

When we tell our children not to smoke, we want them to believe us.

When we tell our children drugs and alcohol are dangerous, we want them to believe us.

When we tell our children to watch out for pedophiles online, we want them to believe us.

But I ask you this: what happens when a child learns that Santa Claus is a lie?

Even worse, when that lie has been told to them by those they trust?

This is a foundational pain, and everything built on it is cracked and unstable.

No wonder America is the way it is today.

I’m not asking you to take the Christmas tree down.

I’m not asking you to pack up the stockings for good.

I’m not asking you to turn off the lights forever.

We can still keep Santa in Christmas, but we must not let our children live a lie.

The myth of Kris Kringle must die. And this must be our last noel.

The members of Last Noel and I believe parents cannot solve this problem on their own.

We cannot rely upon educators.

We cannot rely upon the state.

We must take matters into our own hands.

It may take a village to deceive our children, but a single individual can undo the harm.

Which is why on December 3 the men and women of Last Noel will visit Southwood Mall to spread the truth.

We also will distribute leaflets outside elementary schools on the day before Winter Break.

This Christmas I’m urging you to do the right thing.

Think of the children. Tell them the truth.

Without a doubt, Wyatt Duvall is probably the most evil man alive.

Puppies whimper at his touch. Babies bite their mothers’ nipples when his name is uttered. Wherever he steps, the ground turns to a superfund site.

Duvall doesn’t content himself with the common deeds of the average evildoer.

Wyatt Duvall doesn’t kill. He destroys minds.

This is a code Duvall has lived by since he first turned to fearmongery as a profession.

And make no mistake, Duvall is, at heart, a salesperson, and the only good he sells is misery. The thought of losing even a single one of his customers sickens him.

Or as Duvall once said, “When your target demographic is everyone, you have to protect the very people you’re trying to harm. It’s the only way this business works.”

And how Wyatt Duvall works is well known.

The random email.

The newspaper article.

The conspiracy-spewing video.

Years ago, Duvall realized the mere suggestion of danger alone could inspire panic if the threat was familiar yet slightly askew. It short circuits the fight or flight response.

You see this every day online.

Once again, Wyatt Duvall’s numbers are growing.

Young Americans are wearing Slumber Party T-shirts, and pillow case flags hang from lampposts in cities across the nation.

More importantly, the group’s mantra — “Wake up America. The Slumber Party wants you to sleep.” — has resurfaced as a rallying cry in fringe political circles.

To these people, Wyatt Duvall isn’t a villain at all.

He’s a leader who, in his prime, operated at an unimaginable scale: the world.

Truth be told, no good discussion of the 21st century can take place without some mention of the man known as Wyatt Duvall. The terror of our times was of his making.

Unfortunately, too many people have forgotten the hoaxes he crafted, the crimes he committed, and the horrors he unleashed.

In the end, little is known about Duvall the man. His life is as illusory as one of his hoaxes.

Recently, communications thought to be authored by Wyatt Duvall hint at a return.

And social media is filled with chatter.

These claims come mostly from his followers, many of whom you might meet on America’s streets and cyber highways.

The most notable are the members of the Slumber Party, which the hoaxer once led to short-lived political glory.

If you see them handing out Slumber Party Flowers and Slumber Party Pillow Cases, do not be afraid.

They mean you harm, but they aren’t going to hurt you.

Like the man who once led them, they care.

As you approach them, place your palms together and to the right side of your face, tilt your head, close your eyes, and snore.

And then whisper only to yourself:

“Wake up, America. Wyatt Duvall is rizzen!”

—Candice Hertz

The above excerpt appeared in the August-September 2025 issue of the leading general interest tech mag Plugged In. All online traces of its existence have been deleted.

A blood-red, blue-flecked, pus white mess of star-spangled snot.

I blow my nose again, grab a clean shirt from the pile beside my bed, and wipe.

Fifth time this morning.

All of my clothes are as threadbare as a Betsy Ross original.

But they are always clean.

I wash and dry throughout the day.

Sometimes I even repeat loads.

My laundry basket is never empty.

My lint trap is always full.

And my bedsheets are so threadbare the mattress stains peek through like voyeurs at a crime scene.

My sinuses dry heave.

My throat menstruates,

And my head has restless leg syndrome.

I cough once again.

It’s the Fourth of July in my hands.

Non sequiturs ooze out of my pores instead of sweat.

If I was ripping off Jackson Pollock, I’d place a clean canvas next to my bed,

next to my couch,

next to my desk,

next to my toilet,

and I would create mini mucus masterpieces.

I would make a fortune on phlegm.

And if you wanted a Wyatt Duvall original, all you would have to do is stand in front of me until the next coughing fit arrives.

And when it did and after I have, you would look back at me, your faces beaming beneath the shine of Old Glory spittle.

And you would pay me.

In encrypted cries for help.

My eyes are swollen.

They burn.

Every glance scalds, and every blink is an eruption.

I look at the world through bloodshot glasses, and everything I see comes in shades of red No. 5.

With each cough, I earn another 15-minutes of fame,

Another 30-second video interview,

Another avalanche of friend requests and OnlyFiends subscribers.

Another mother-fucking supplement selling out on my mother-fucking website for my mother-fucking pod cast.

The kind that rewires your logic circuits into your Id and your lizard brain into a higher state of being.

I wouldn’t need to sign autographs.

I would only need to hand out tissues.

I would be rich beyond belief.

Every morning, I would wipe my ass with Andy Warhol Campbell soup can prints and jerk off into the face of Picasso.

I am art.

And ready for another hit.

I reach for the pipe on the nightstand, lift up my shirt, and pull the lint from my belly button.

Then I pack the bowl and smoke.

There is no place I’d rather be.

The world is my laundromat, and my soul is static free.

—Excerpt from Confessions of a Lint Head, by Wyatt Duvall

The Many Crimes of Wyatt Duvall is the secret cultural history of modern America — told through the hoaxes, scandals, and surreal political movements engineered by one man.

The Investigation Starts June 1