Editor’s Note: This article is purely satirical and fictitious. All attributions in this article are not genuine, and this story should be read in the context of pure entertainment only.

Gather around friends, whether you be Democrat, Republican or Independent. I have a tale for you. It’s one of humble beginnings and audacious endings. We lay our scene in Petersburg, Alaska, a tiny fishing village seated in the Alaska Panhandle, only reachable by air or sea. In this tiny village lies an accordingly tiny pub. There, as he was often found, sat a man named Dan Sullivan.

DAN SULLIVAN: Well I’m darn pissed with the way things have been panning out. I’m telling you, the excrement really hit the fan when that orange fella took the White House. These deportations have really gotten out of hand. I’ve got a buddy who grew up here but was born abroad, and they sent him all the way to that megaprison in El Salvador. I mean, the guy was born in Canada! It doesn’t make a lick of sense.

DAN’S BUDDY: You’ve got that right, Dan. I sure hope these midterms turn things around.

DAN SULLIVAN: You betcha.

STRANGER: Excuse me.

A mysterious stranger interjected from a few chairs down. He wore a striped suit, a big bolo tie, a straw hat and perhaps most importantly he wore that harbinger grin that shouted without words: I’m the man who brings the storms to Kansas.

STRANGER: I couldn’t help but overhear you, my friend, and I think I may be of service. But you see, it’s all predicated on one thing, just one thing. I hear your name is Dan? A mighty fine Christian name, but if I may ask, what’s your daddy’s name?

DAN SULLIVAN: Why, it’s Sullivan, sir. I’m Dan Sullivan.

STRANGER: Why then, Dan Sullivan sir, have I got a proposition for you. You see my friend, I’m from the great state of Ohio. Yessireebub, where the saying is “With God, All Things Are Possible.” Do you believe in God, Dan Sullivan? Well, of course you do. You can’t win a race in Alaska without believing in God. I’ve been traveling up and down this tundric territory in search of potential, of prophesy, of a man born to serve his country and state. You’re familiar with Mary Peltola, aren’t ya son?

DAN SULLIVAN: Well, yes, sir. She’s running for senate as a Democrat.

STRANGER: Yessir, and coincidentally she happens to be running against a man of your nomenclature: Dan Sullivan, incumbent. But what if there were two of him? What if when each good Alaskan man and woman walked into the voting booth this November, they saw two Dan Sullivans on their ballot?

DAN SULLIVAN: Gee, that’d be confusing.

STRANGER: And that’s my game, son. Confusion, deception, election. I go by many names, Dan Sullivan: Zane, God and the like. But I like to consider myself the Magic Man, with the best sleight of hand trick upside the lower 48.

DAN SULLIVAN: I’m sorry, did you say that people call you God?

STRANGER: Oh, yeah. You’re gonna get a kick out of this. So I convinced this guy to run as a Republican, and when the press asked what convinced him to run he said, “God spoke to me.”

DAN SULLIVAN: Wow. I never knew God was from the Midwest.

STRANGER: This one is. And if you stick with him, he’ll make a senatorial candidate out of you, and a senator out of Peltola.

DAN SULLIVAN: So what should I call you?

STRANGER: How do you figure?

DAN SULLIVAN: You said everybody calls you something different. What should I call you?

JARID: You can call me your friend Jarid.

DAN SULLIVAN: Like the Subway guy?

JARID: No. It’s spelled with an “i” instead of an “e.”

DAN SULLIVAN: Got it. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jarid. I’m Dan Sullivan.

After a long, frigid search, Jarid had found his man. He brought Dan Sullivan to the office of Mary Peltola.

PELTOLA: No, no, no. He won’t do. Not in a million years.

JARID: Why not?

PELTOLA: Because he’s a commonfolk. A Petersburg proletariat. Why, he’s a busher for heaven’s sake.

JARID: I haven’t the foggiest idea what that means.

PELTOLA: I mean that for this scheme to work he needs to be of political disposition. We need to convince Alaskans, real Alaskans, that he’s a serious politician and not some no-name.

DAN SULLIVAN: I have a name. It’s Dan Sullivan.

JARID: See, he’s perfect! Give him a chance, Mary. I’ll teach him to be a senatorial candidate.

DAN SULLIVAN: I can do it, ma’am. I may seem like a sourdough, but I’m sharp as an ulu and I’ll have a candidacy so skookum you’ll think I were Tony Knowles.

JARID: See, I know that was a lot, but I can knock that kind of talk outta him and make him a hell of a candidate. And I’ll tell you what: I’ll bet you ten grand that I can.

PELTOLA: 10 grand? I can put that kind of money towards a new snowmachine. Besides, I suppose he’s got the name. You’re on, Jarid. Best of luck to you.

From there, Jarid started training Dan Sullivan to be a hotshot Alaskan politician. He bought him a new suit with a bright red tie. To the untrained eye, he was as conservative as conservatives come. Most importantly, Jarid trained him in diction.

DAN SULLIVAN: Hi, I’m Dan Sullivan.

JARID: Good, do it again, but this time with less panache.

DAN SULLIVAN: Hi, I’m Dan Sullivan.

JARID: Do that again.

DAN SULLIVAN: Hi, I’m Dan Sullivan.

JARID: Once more!

DAN SULLIVAN: Hi, I’m Dan Sullivan.

JARID: By George, I think he’s got it!

From there he was a runaway success. Dan Sullivan knocked on every door in Alaska and said those magic words. The scheme worked but, by some disastrous miracle, it worked too well! Independent Dan Sullivan began to outpace Peltola and even incumbent republican Dan Sullivan. 

As the weeks and months went on, the media began to refer to the incumbent Dan Sullivan as simply “The Incumbent.” As did Alaskans, as did his friends, as did his parents. Neither Peltola nor the Incumbent could stomach losing to an outsider, and desperation led them to unlikely company. On a bench overlooking the western sea, Peltola took a seat in search of common ground.

PELTOLA: Hello, Incumbent.

INCUMBENT: I have a name.

PELTOLA: I suppose you did once. Come here often?

INCUMBENT: It’s Palin’s place. She used to sit here and watch Russia’s shore. I like to come here when I’m sad. Would you like to borrow my binoculars?

PELTOLA: No. It’s ironic, Incumbent. I made Dan Sullivan to defeat you, but he’s on track to be my demise as well. We can’t have that, can we? Another Independent in Congress? Another Bernie asking for help with his sudoku? That’s why it’s time to let bygones be bygones and play your trump card.

INCUMBENT: You don’t mean…?

PELTOLA: I do.

And play it they did. They called up the POTUS. “Dial one, for bribery. Dial two, for TRUMP coin. Dial three, for election interference.” Within a few minutes, Trump ordered the DOJ to block the election if the Incumbent didn’t win. But just a few days ago, a judge blocked his block! So folks, it looks like we’re in for a showdown tonight. It’s anybody’s game: Mary Peltola, the Incumbent or Dan Sullivan. The future is written in the crisp Alaskan snow, penned by a drunk lumberjack.