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Once upon a time, there lived a man who stole some kale from his neighbor for his pregnant wife. This was both rude and foolish, because his neighbor was a powerful witch. One night, she caught him and threatened to curse him if he didn’t give her his unborn child. Being a dopey and juvenile ‘90s-sitcom-husband-type, he agreed. His wife was used to his doofus-y antics, so she just rolled her eyes while a laugh-track played in the background.

The child was born and given to the witch, who named her Rakalezel and locked her in a tower, because the other witches in her book club raved about the positive effects of tower-parenting. To keep Rakalezel safe from the many dangers of the outside world — crime and drugs and violence and vaping — the witch sealed the tower’s door. When she wanted to see her, she’d text “Rakalezel, Rakalezel, turn on your webcam” and the two would chat over Skype.

But Rakalezel was lonely. Her only companion was a YouTube supercut of celebrities dabbing. Then, one fateful day, Rakalezel discovered Tinder. There, she encountered an affable hippie who explained that the crime rate was actually declining, and that the impact of crime was exaggerated by conservative media outlets to fuel the prison-industrial complex. They exchanged SkypeIDs and spoke every night, falling deeply in love.

Unbeknownst to Rakalezel, the witch had installed spyware on her phone (by the way, did I mention that the witch was a conservative megadonor? Well, she was). When she found out about the hippie, she fell into a rage and banished Rakalezel to the desert. That was actually perfect, because the hippie lived in New Mexico. They got married and had twins, and they tried not to be such overbearing helicopter parents themselves. They lived happily and dabbed often.

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