Am I going to stop taking money from Charybdis, the bloodthirsty whirlpool murdering everyone off the coast of Florida? Look, people send me money because they buy into my agenda, and if my agenda happens to appeal to a horrifying three-thousand-year-old sea monster that sucks kids into the abyss of its stomach and digests them alive with its excruciating acids, that’s no reflection on me.

I have stood for the same things since the day I took office, like the right of children to be thrown into the sea and devoured by the circling jaws of certain death. Sure, it’s unfortunate that a day at the beach sometimes has to be ruined by the spray of blood from Charybdis, but what can you do?

A lot of people claim that Charybdis is growing larger and more powerful every day. Some people even think she might devour the entire state of Florida soon. “Surely the Founding Fathers were only thinking of small eddies when they wrote our Constitution, not modern-day maelstroms,” they say. But I think the Founding Fathers were pretty clear in their belief that freedom is not free, and the price is letting your kids be eaten alive by a sea monster. Come on, it’s not like the Founding Fathers owned slaves or anything crazy like that. So I totally trust their judgment.

Listen, I’m a parent too. I understand why Charybdis terrifies people so much that they lose their ability to speak at the sight of her terrible fangs. But if we don’t have good monsters like Charybdis, how will we defend ourselves from bad monsters like Scylla, the hideous six-headed serpent that also lives off our coast and wants to disembowel kids six at a time. Charybdis says the only way to avoid Scylla is to swim near her instead. I’m sure she’s just looking out for us and is not at all busy seeding the entire seaboard with more whirlpools.

I know, I know. It looks bad that I take millions of dollars in political donations from Charybdis. But it’s not like I’m beholden to her pro-whirlpool agenda. Just last year, I wrote a grant in the budget to help schools waterproof their buildings.

Some people think I could just refuse to take Charybdis’ donations. Allow me to chuckle. Those people have obviously never been waterboarded by her maws of agony. Don’t worry — they’ll learn.

Do you even know what horrible things would happen if I ever turned against Charybdis? Sure, it might save millions of lives and prevent our state from being consumed in a bloodbath of gyrating teeth, but what about me? I could lose reelection. You may think that pales in comparison to the unending grief of parents who have lost their kids inside Charybdis, but you’re wrong. My sole passion in life is to be a sycophant who uses his power to transform our country into a sickening dystopia where hellacious beasts feed on the dreams of children and also on their actual bodies. I’m completely useless as a person otherwise.

Hopefully, I’ve used up sufficient time now to dodge your question and avoid giving you a straight response as to whether I will refuse blood money from the death vortex that threatens to consume us all and everyone we love. But LOL, come on, we both know the answer. After all, Charybdis is watching.