NOEM, RFK JR., AND RAND PAUL WALK INTO A LEVEL 4 LAB

The Untold and Untrue Account of What Happened at Fort Detrick

DISCLAIMER: Let’s get this out of the way: some parts of this story are true. Kristi Noem, RFK Jr., and Rand Paul really did tour Fort Detrick, one of the most secure biosafety level 4 labs in the United States. Noem really did suffer an allergic reaction shortly afterward and was hospitalized. RFK Jr. really was once afflicted with a brain worm (confirmed by him). And yes—Rand Paul really was physically assaulted by his neighbor in a landscaping dispute.

The rest of it? Scathing, searing, and unrelenting satire.

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They shouldn’t have been there. Not one of them. Not in a lab. Not near science. Not within a hundred-mile blast radius of peer-reviewed thought. But there they were: Kristi Noem, allergic to empathy and full sentences; RFK Jr., whose skull housed both a brain worm and a libertarian podcast; and Rand Paul, a libertarian piñata stuffed with grievance and expired Sudafed. They called it a “biodefense oversight tour,” but that’s like calling a toddler with a chainsaw a lumberjack.

Kristi Noem showed up in a puffed-sleeve blouse and pinstriped slacks, looking like someone who wandered off the set of a Hallmark movie about small-town fascism. Her expression suggested she had just smelled socialism, and the way she gripped her water bottle implied it might double as a defensive tool in case someone uttered the phrase "public health infrastructure." RFK Jr. arrived already sweating, muttering about “magnetism in the air vents” and asking if the lab had a Faraday cage where he could “rebalance his gut flora.” Rand Paul brought a handwritten copy of the Constitution and tried to present it as legal tender at the security checkpoint. The guards just stared. The building itself seemed to sigh.

It all unraveled near the containment corridor. Kristi was barely five minutes into the tour when she collapsed to the floor clutching her throat, convulsing like she’d just seen herself in a mirror—because she had. Her reflection in a polished steel cabinet triggered what experts later confirmed was a full-body empathy anaphylaxis, brought on by exposure to compassion, self-awareness, and the memory of a whimpering dog named Cricket. Doctors later added her reflection to a growing list of allergens, which already includes: puppies, decency, voter turnout, reality, and women who say “I’m disappointed in you” without raising their voices.

Rand Paul, assuming it was Fauci’s doing, immediately began shouting about bioterrorism and tried to “citizen-arrest” the janitor. He shoved a Sharpie into a centrifuge and declared it a “liberty override device.” Staff had to physically remove him from a refrigerator where he was trying to interrogate a tray of flu samples. It wasn’t the first time, apparently.

Meanwhile, RFK Jr. was crouched behind a cryo chamber, shirtless, muttering about heavy metals and huffing isopropyl alcohol from a Petri dish.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, pupils fully eclipsed. “This is how I cleanse the microplastics.”

He attempted to inject himself with a pipette full of saline and echinacea before licking the outer casing of a HEPA filter “to realign his biome.”

A technician tried to stop him, but RFK hissed like a cornered raccoon and claimed he was “mid-transmutation.” At one point, he attempted to climb inside a specimen freezer because he heard “the mRNA can’t track you in there.” They sedated him with a 60-slide PowerPoint presentation and a picture of his father looking disappointed.

Just as Rand Paul was gearing up to live-tweet the autopsy, a blast of cold, sterile air swept through the corridor. The ceiling lights flickered, and from the far end of the hallway emerged a silhouette that could only be described as radiating academic vengeance. Dr. Anthony Fauci stepped forward, clipboard in hand, lab coat starched like judgment, and a look in his eyes that said he hadn’t slept since March 2020 and didn’t intend to start now.

Rand Paul stood frozen like a possum in a Senate hearing.

“You,” Rand finally spat, “this is your doing—your fear, your lab coats, your—”

Fauci dropped the clipboard.

Not by accident. Not softly. It hit the floor like a lawsuit.

“Say gain-of-function one more time,” he said. “Say it.”

Kristi Noem gasped, not from shock, but because she had just developed a spontaneous allergy to direct confrontation. Her skin broke out in hives shaped like the Humane Society logo. Her immune system rejected the concept of moral consequence at the molecular level.

Rand, shaking, tried to stand tall. “You don’t scare me,” he said. “I’ve read the science.”

Fauci stepped closer. “You read memes. And I remember your neighbor.”

Rand blinked.

“You remember,” Fauci said again, slow and mean. “The landscaping dispute. The ribs. The mulch.”

A tremor passed through Rand’s spine.

“I’ve been waiting for my turn,” Fauci whispered. “Parking lot. Five minutes. No gloves. Just charts, graphs, and facts.”

Rand fled. Full sprint. Through the decontamination bay and into a wall.

Kristi Noem let out a final wheeze before collapsing, her nervous system fully rejecting the presence of facts. RFK Jr. had to be wheeled out covered in dry ice and surrounded by healing crystals. Rand Paul was eventually found hiding behind a biohazard disposal bin, whispering “states’ rights” to himself like a prayer. Kristi’s medical file now includes confirmed allergens such as: golden retrievers with soulful eyes, handwritten apology notes, Barack Obama’s Spotify playlists, teachers unions, composting, lesbian couples holding hands in public, the scent of empathy, The Giving Tree, modesty in leadership, and any public display of affection that doesn’t involve an American flag or a firearm.

Fort Detrick has since declared the affected hallway permanently sealed, not due to contamination, but due to shame. No formal report was filed.

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