Dear reader, I demand you envision something for me—a dinner table. The supple mahogany surface with ornate hints of a burgundy shade seats four individuals.
At one end, history’s most infamous conqueror; a murderer of 40 million with genetics stretching over 16 million men today. At the other end, a YouTube celebrity/failed boxer/failed rapper/con man who made millions by being an idiot in public while scamming children. Between the two, the US’ most acclaimed civil rights activist—a peaceful combatant of systemic prejudice, injustice, and discrimination. Plus me: Owen Andersen, The Shield journalist, high school senior, and future president of the United States of America or King of British Columbia (possibly). God shall not be present this evening. Let the games begin.
Over email, Dr. King, Mr. Jake Paul, and I agreed to a physical armistice; no weaponry or bloodsport at the table. Unfortunately, a language barrier stems between us three and Mr. Khan, an unfortunate logistical mishap. I, punctual as ever, arrive precisely on time: 7:00 p.m. at a venue that shall not be named for legal reasons (they are a small business and would be inundated by the tourist traction this article shall likely muster). The restaurant relays a message from Dr. King—the good doctor only just discovered what an Uber is and what an Uber does and thus shall arrive later than expected. Jake Paul arrived with Dr King at 7:45; and Mr. Khan, at 8:15. Unfortunately, Mr. Khan chose to arrive on horseback, so both the commute and parking were quite taxing, especially considering Mr. Khan does not respect road safety nor traffic laws. Nevertheless, we were all seated by 8:20.
Conversation begins cordially, Mr. Khan is relatively silent, as is Dr. King. The two famous historical figures and I are utterly bewildered by what Jake Paul keeps saying; it’s like he’s speaking a different language. I think he mentioned crypto and something about a T-shirt company. Slowly, Mr. Khan grows more and more ornery, his grunts and Mongolian side comments expanding in number and intensity throughout Mr. Jake Paul’s lecture. Finally, Genghis Khan lunges at Jake Paul, bellowing a great “KKKAAAHHHH” as he commits his violence. Caught off guard, Jake Paul’s experience in influencer boxing kicks in, quickly jumping out of his seat, and evading the conqueror. The brawl took center stage in front of our table, as the good Doctor tried to quell tempers. I was making bets with the waiting staff and shouting words of encouragement for Genghis (I’m a betting man). Unfortunately, the Khan was subdued by the allure of fresh sourdough. For the next five minutes straight, Paul kept proclaiming the rumpus concluded in his favor.
Exasperated by J. Paul’s chicanery, Dr. King decries the influencer, questioning who exactly he believes himself to be. Sensing his confusion, I attempt to explain what a YouTuber is to MLK Jr. The sheer breadth of this concept gives King an aneurism; he prays quietly in a corner for the rest of the night. At around 9:53, the main course is served: gruel, with a side of cottage cheese. Mmmmmm. Just writing about it…makes me gag…
Myred in a quaint silence, Paul had the only good idea of his career: bar crawl. King perked up; Khan seemed to understand the statement, or maybe the base desire behind it. I wish I could retell the events that concluded the night, but I don’t remember most of it and I don’t feel like reciting court documents. Our adventure ended in a jail cell with three donkeys, a dead sheriff, and an invite to Joe Rogan’s podcast. They’ll be making Netflix documentaries about this, mark my words.