The LA Dystopia | by Governor Candidate Louis De Barraicua

May 16, 2026, 3:07 pm

Chapter 1: The Los Angeles Dystopia 

“A Bard,” I told her when she asked me about my archetype. 

“Like a Shakespeare?” 

“Today there is way more information - so I’m an updated bard, of sorts,” I told her. “A a pirate king from the future.” 

“From the future?” she asked. “How does that work?” 

“I used to tell my students they were watching themselves from the future from the pirate kingdom of Louis XX.” 

“Who is Louis XX?” 

“He’s my alter ego based on my genetic code. I’m directly related to King Nialles - the most famous king of Ireland.”

I pulled out my phone, and showed her my 23andme app, “You see, there? A True Pirate King.” 

“What does that mean?” she asked me. “To have the soul of a true pirate king?”  

“It means I see the world for what it is - to be royal means to see the base reality.” 

“Base reality?” 

“Not be fooled by an illusion, except the one God’s wants me to fall for,” I told her.

“What’s an illusion?” she asked me.

I paused, looked at her. I didn’t think it would be possible to have her be interested me enough to want to meet out on a first date. We had chatted for months, and meeting with her in person made me feel unexpectedly nervous. “Beauty,” I said. “Is and illusion.”

“How?” 

“Because you might be very beautiful, but ultimately you may not be as beautiful on the inside because maybe it’s hard for you to relate. That’s something that’s ultimately revealed over time.  

“How exactly do you find that out?” she asked me. 

“The plot,” I said. “Our actions. Our synergy.

“The story we make,” she said with a buoyancy that surprised me. “What do you think our tension is?” 

‘Our tension is that we belong together, but I am a man who is climbing a mountain.” 

“What’s wrong with climbing a mountain?” 

“It’s hard to do with another person,” I said. 

“But we’re here,” she said. 

“I was delighted by you,” I told her. “Truth is when I saw your photograph, I thought you were some kind of AI photo.” 

“So you’re climbing a mountain, and you stopped to talk to me?”

“Yes,” I told her.

“What do you hope to do in this little tent while you’re climbing this mountain?” she asked me at the dinner table. 

“I like the way you talk,” I told her. “I get bored really easily, and you’re such a curious person -- it’s something we have in common.” 

“What are you most curious about?” she asked me. 

“My potential,” I told her. “I’d like to see what I can do if I really try.”

“Have you been not really trying?” 

“No, it’s that I thought my life would be simple; but when I found out LAUSD schools was corrupt, it gave me purpose for the first time in my life.”

“How come?” 

“Because I saw how they do it. I witnessed the process. I see how they’re abandoning those children in South Central like a bunch of detached greedy elites - people are like animals to them. I know the type well,” I told her. 

“I do too,” she said. “Hundreds of wealthy elite men confess their sins to me. I know what they do, but I can’t report them because I”m their…their therapist. Rich people are so disgusting - what they do to those girls.” 

She was the type of therapist the elites like to look at; sometimes she’d even get proposals over ten million dollars; and she turned down all of them, except she did say she let a man lick her toes for three million dollars, and that’s how she finally got ahead in the Los Angeles Dystopia.