Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 7: Thunderdome: Part 01: A Sure Bet

Winston Jones was a professor of business math. Not Business Ethics, Not Business Intersectionalist Studies. Not Business Feelings. Not Business Whining Because I Suck and Lack Marketable Skills. Business Math.

Therefore, he was a pariah. It simply wouldn’t do to be seen in the presence of a man who used words like “return on investment”. He was known to seek “profit” without publicly demonstrating shame! At the University there were certain standards to uphold. Hanging around Winston could get you fired; or worse, reduce your following on social media!

Winston was skilled, intelligent, fiscally solvent, and… normal. Almost unique within the campus freak show, he had his shit together. It was a tough existence. Resisting social pressure was hard work! If he’d simply dye his hair blue and write a dense illogical treatise on “How Communism would be awesome if only we tried harder” he’d be welcomed into the collective with open arms. A man of principle, he refused. He assuaged his battered soul by conning idiots into paying his taxes.

The gambit was easy.

He’d created a charitable trust; managed, of course, by himself. Periodically, when the timing was right, he’d snare some group of Kool-aid drinking wingnuts into matching him at a fun friendly wager. The loser or losers would wind up making a sizable charitable donation. The winner, Winston, would choose a venue. As trust administrator, Winston, not entirely legally, would claim the entirety of the donation’s associated tax deduction. Thus, Winston had, for the last dozen years, significantly reduced his taxes.

More importantly, he’d made dipshits fund serial donations to charities designed to infuriate impressionable freshman and barnacled faculty Trotskyites alike. That was the fun part!

The first step was to isolate an easily manipulated hive mind of fools. They had to be gullible, dedicated to believing untrue things, and bad at math. In a hunt for such rubes, the University was a target rich environment. However, Winston took his time. He liked to sniff out the weirdest, most illogical, messed up, stampeding lemmings on campus. He considered it a professional courtesy to humanity itself to find the most irrational of the species before raking them over the coals. Inevitably, he wound up at the door of room 101; Dr. Simone Moonglow Lenin Rothschild, Advanced Grievance Indoctrination. He straightened his tie and grinned wolfishly. It was “go time.”