Following the heated exchange between Tipper Gore and the Twisted Sisters, the GOP doubled down on the belief that the depravities of creative expression were destroying the moral framework of the American populace. Spearheaded by the evangelical caucus that placed Reagan in office, a morally conservative faction reeling from their loss in court against the heavy metal rockers, set their sights on a smaller fish— Julian Zaffarado, critically acclaimed short story writer and aspiring screenwriter.

His incendiary work condemned the stratospheric disparities between the average American and the budding oligarchy. He renounced the two-party political system and urged his fellow citizens to see that their culture war was a grand diversion by the elite to avoid the gross excesses of the hyper-wealthy. The satirical nature of his work paired with a descriptive opulence that would have made Tom Robbins proud. The peculiarities of his subjects— ranging from the crocheting habits of a mortician to the money laundering scheme of a coin wash operating youth pastor, enthralled his readers. Zaffarado was fearless— as all great artists should be. Until he wasn’t.

It’s one thing to snipe at the rotten behemoths of the political landscape when you’re a dust mite. It’s another when those behemoths deign to line you up in their own crosshairs. Zaffarado, invoking the entropy of the universe, found himself the personal enemy of South Carolina congressional member, Carlton Huston III. A particularly pernicious, wine sack-colored human that counted more similarities with a bloodhound than his fellow man. Still, Huston relished in the dissection of political enemies— of which Zaffardo counted himself as one after mocking Huston in a thinly veiled story about a committee member that soiled themselves during a budget meeting on the hill. Impossible to confirm the veracity of the tale— but folks in DC bathed in purell after meeting with Huston.

Huston denounced the writings of Zaffarado as profane and morally corrupting. Zaffarado’s sales skyrocketed on the liberal west, but at the cost of middle America hammering him into the ground. A dedicated smear campaign succeeded in blackballing him from Hollywood— right on the verge of his agent closing a deal with Warner Brothers to direct a follow-up to Animal House. He fought against the exclusion, but in vain industry, money wins.

The once bright star faded from public view. The world forgot Julian Zaffarado and the brilliance of his biting wit and the tenacious quest for the truth. His collected anthologies were alternately burned and collected by followers and enemies alike. A stint in Prague cemented his status as a cult classic writer after a wine-drenched screenplay surfaced on a fan Livejournal. The photocopied pages made showcased Zaffarardo’s aged brilliance and dedication to his craft— as well as the dejected signs from the wine drops and animal grease that dotted the manuscript. Periodically, more projects would appear on other backwater blogs— creating an easter egg hunt for aspiring authors and devoted fans. The American public and Hollywood may have forgotten about his skills, but his name was whispered with reverence among the most talented of writers.

It wasn’t until the unlikely coupling of a film school dropout turned Onlyfans creator that Zaffardo’s work was brought back to the mainstream. Fayesvalue, a social and alternative media darling blew up on Twitter after her sexually explicit adaptation of Zaffarado’s most elusive story, Tiber’s Remorse, headlined both the regular and sexual areas of Twitter and Reddit for weeks. Her camerawork, attention to detail, and undeniable sex appeal led to rumblings that pornography could be heightened to an art form.

Zaffarado was furious. He didn’t see the positive reception of his work for what it was. Rather, he felt his magnum opus was perverted. He feared another social and creative ostracisation— from which he had never fully recovered the first time. A furious call to his lawyer led to a drafted cease and desist for Fayesvalue. It wasn’t until he took time to watch the video fully that he understood why it had become so popular. The young woman, while exquisite in performing her solo acts, was an artistic genius with the camera. She was the budding talent that Zaffarado had been denied the chance to work with years ago.

He sent her an email— How do you feel about working on a project together?