"Honey," Karen said, "you know what I'd really like for our wedding anniversary?"
"What's that, sugarplum?" Mike asked.
"There's a carnival just outside Indianapolis. Let's go there for a day, and have some fun! Plus it'll be a great way to show our Hoosier pride and support the community and local economy."
Of course, it couldn't just be a day to enjoy themselves. Everything and anything had to be about politics. But Mike knew what this game was about... and it was a righteous game, in service of the Lord Almighty.
Nonetheless, the reminder of politics was stressful now more than ever. He was looking at his gubernatorial re-election campaign. He had barely won the previous one, a very close race. In office he'd faced a lot of backlash even from voters usually on his side for the way he'd handled the state's HIV crisis and the way he required poor people on Medicaid to make co-payments. He believed he had a calling from God to uphold traditional American values, but not all of the people saw it that way and sometimes it was discouraging. Indeed, Mike was feeling a bit nervous about the trip to the carnival, fearing that the ungodly Democrats would harass him there, especially the homosexuals. He got the feeling a lot of homosexuals hung out at carnivals, probably to ogle the lion-tamer in his tight outfit with its prominent bulge that of course a good Christian like Mike Pence would never, ever, ever notice. Or maybe the clowns. He thought homosexuals probably had a weird deviant fetish for clowns and wanted to do any manner of ungodly things with the clowns which he himself would never remotely dream of.
Mike wanted to make his wife happy, hoping maybe he'd get to have sex later. His sudden urge for sex, in the godly union between a man and his wife, had nothing to do whatsoever with his thoughts about the homosexuals at the carnival who would be ogling the lion-tamer and wanting to do perverted fetish things with the clowns.
So with a small sigh, Mike nodded. "All right, dear. We'll go to the carnival."
_
Mike's anxiety about the carnival was intensified once he was actually there. He was sure there were homosexuals everywhere and they were all looking at him, especially his buttocks, fantasizing about doing lewd, ungodly things to his virgin rectum. His discomfort was at its peak when his wife brought him over to a food cart that served pretzels and hot dogs, and he watched a mustachioed man staring at him as he assembled a large hot dog. The way the man handled a hot dog told Mike he was very likely a homosexual.
"What kind of condiments would like on your... hot dog?"
Oh Lord Almighty, give me strength. My wife thinks that being here at this carnival is good for my career, and my career is ever in Your hands. If I am truly doing the right thing by presenting myself here to show my Hoosier pride, please give me a sign. Amen.
It wasn't long after Mike ate his hot dog that he began to feel queasy, thinking about where that homosexual's hands had been... maybe even where those hot dogs had been before the homosexual served them. Mike rushed to a porta-potty, not wanting to throw up in front of other people. The dry heaves passed once he took some deep breaths and began to hum one of his favorite hymns, "Deep And Wide".
And then he spotted something on the floor of the porta-potty. A ring, made of white gold. Somebody lost a ring, Mike thought to himself as he picked it up. I should bring it to the Lost and Found -
Then he saw there was an ichthys symbol on the ring. It was a simple design, no decoration apart from the fish. Mike gasped at the symbol of his Savior. He couldn't resist trying it on. It fit on his right index finger as if it had been made for him. The ring seemed to shine brighter, and made him feel warm all over, as if Christ Himself was giving him a hug. (Of course it was a godly, non-homosexual hug.)
A still, small voice spoke to him. There's your sign.
On the way home from the carnival, Mike's sign was further confirmed when his cell phone rang. "Hello?"
"Hey, Mikey, baby, this is Donald Trump. How would you like to be my veep?"
Mike couldn't believe his ears. His spirit soared, the ring pulsing on his finger. Thank You, Jesus. Thank You, Lord...
_
After that, the ring never came off Mike's hand. He wore it in the shower, he wore it to bed.
He began to have prophetic dreams as he slept, straight out of the Book of Revelation. The seals, the trumpets, the bowls. The voice of the Lord ringing out:
Do not assume that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
The Lord Himself had eyes like fire. And as Mike Pence campaigned with Donald Trump, he kept his wits about him by thinking about that all-seeing eye of fire looking upon him, guiding him. They were doing holy work, paving the trail that Christ would set ablaze.
Thank You, Lord. My life for You.
Sauron smiled. You're welcome.
_
In 2020 Mike's faith was tested yet again. There was the pandemic, and civil unrest. That Communist Biden was doing well in the polls. If Biden won, there would be no stopping the homosexual agenda. Soon there would be deviant clown orgies everywhere.
I need another sign, Lord. I hate to doubt You, but I am weak.
Mike closed his eyes and once again that still, small voice spoke to him, the vision of the flaming eye. You are My anointed one, and soon I will prove to the world that your faith is as sweet to Me as honey.
It was so that during one of the debates, a fly rested on Mike Pence's head for two minutes.
Sauron watched the debate not on television but through a palantir, as flies buzzed around him in a cornfield, attracted to the natural rotting smell of the corrupted Maia. He had many servants these days - his meth empire in Indiana was turning people into Orcs - but his servant Pence was doing very great work. The fly was indeed the Lord's seal of approval.