IPR investigation: is Vermin Supreme actually Tom Knapp’s real father?

SEPARATED 9 MONTHS BEFORE BIRTH?

Thomas L. Knapp reported in 2017 that the man he then believed to have been his father had passed away. Now, in 2019, Knapp has tantalizingly titled his review of the Vermin Supreme book “I, Pony” “VERMIN SUPREME IS MY FATHER (OR AT LEAST I CALL HIM DADA).”

At press time, we at Independent Political Report are still trying to ascertain whether there has been a belated discovery that Vermin Supreme is actually Knapp’s biological father, whether TLK has been adopted by Supreme, or what exactly this dadaistic connection between the two of them is. If we don’t ask, they won’t tell.

Knapp’s oedipal review:

I’ve read many campaign books. Hell, I’ve written parts of several and helped edit others. I’ve never read anything like i PONY and I never want to again. I saw a snail crawling on the edge of a straight razor and I thought to myself “lucky you.”

The fuck? What rotten satanic admixture of chemical cranial stimulation could have set this rough beast slouching toward Washington, DC in a secondhand Ron Paul RevoLOVEolution airship?

Not LSD. Acid is an old friend of mine and I know it wouldn’t, couldn’t ever do this to a human mind trusted to its kind embrace.
Methamphetamine? The emphasis on dental hygiene could be interpreted as a hint either way.

My money’s on bath salts and bathtub gin. The zombies are the true tell here.

Ponynomics. Pony porn. Time travel. Pony porn, Zombies harnessed one of the the world’s two sources of renewable energy (pony poop is the other). Pony porn. Row upon row of cloned brains in jars attended to by Canadian POWs. !!!OMG ZOMBIE KING KONG!!! Did I mention pony porn?

I tried to maintain my grip on reality through this Tarrant(ino)esque hell-ride into the futurepastpresent, but severe dental woes and PTSD from a tragic childhood incident with a wild Shetland made me unfit for the task. I longed for the sweet sound of fingernails on a chalkboard within moments of cracking the cover, which should be made of human skin like Lovecraft’s Necronomicon as a warning to the wise.

Maybe I’m being too hard on i PONY. It’s a story of family. It’s a story of love. It’s a story of erotic pony fantasy and flying monkeys and plots and sub-plots that treat the arrow of time like a Candyland spinner set to always land on brown.

The future is here. Or was. Or will be. Or all three. And it’s the Earth balanced on a toothbrush, balanced on a boot, mounted (very erotically) on a pony. Beneath the pony? Ponies all the way down, baby, ponies all the way down.

Can Vermin Supreme become president?

SHOULD Vermin Supreme become president?

My jerking knee screeches NO to both questions, but my scorched brain reminds me that all those other candidates are just … well … crazy.

Besides, he probably already has several times.

I’m going to retreat to a small room and scream for a little while now.