You lay in a woodland glade, surrounded by a towering thicket of mighty pines. The early morning dew clings to your bare skin, creating pinpricks of cold across your arms and legs. You breathe in the forest air, tinged with sap, grass, and dirt. You hear a rustling to your left and turn toward the sound. Out from the underbrush leaps some sort of wood nymph, clad in nothing but a solitary leaf. The creature dances a merry jig for you, his little legs kicking up rocks and pine needles and strewing them about. He jigs a little closer to you. You wave him away, but he attempts to jig forth again. You don’t protest this time. He jigs over you, bounding back and forth like a graceful antelope. He jigs until he can barely stand, but you watch on intentively. There is some sort of hypnotic rhythm to his little dance, like the swinging of a pendulum or a Viennese waltz. He plops down into the grass next to you, his tight little tush making a perfect indent. He stares at you with his shimmering baby blues.
“Why, I do declare that it’s hotter than a moonshine still in a shed fire in this here forest,” Lindsey Graham says, the Carolinian drawl that hangs over his insightful simile gives you a tingling feeling in your pants. Except you aren’t wearing pants. Lindsey eyes whatever hardware you’ve got down there.
“My daddy always said what’s the point in packin’ heat if you’re afraid to shoot of a couple rounds here and there.” Lindsey puts his hand on this inside of your thigh.
“Shhh, baby. Lindsey isn’t gonna hurt ya,” Lindsey puts his finger to your lips. “In fact, I’m the only person who will protect you and the rest of my fellow Americans from the tangible threat to this nation that is ISIL.”
“ISIL isn’t just declaring war on Syria and our Kurdish allies in Iraq, they are declaring a war on our ideals. On everything that it means to be American.” Lindsey kisses your neck then moves across your jaw, finally locking his lips with yours. “The only way for ISIL to be stopped, thanks to the Obama administration’s series of disasterous blunders in Iraq, is to get boots on the ground and take the fight to ISIL’s back door instead of waiting for them to bring it to ours.”
Lindsey discards his leaf and throws himself upon you.
“Did you know that the United States is negotiating with the number one state sponsor of terrorism in the world?” Lindsey cradles your head in his hands and nibbles on your ear. “We should not be recognizing the sovereignty of those power crazed fools in Iran, let alone give them the ability to manufacture and distribute nuclear weapons.”
“Most candidates want to cut military spending, but that’s about like saying that they want China or Russia to become a superpower,” Lindsey says, brushing the hair away from your face. “I feel that it is paramount to our American way of life that we stay the dominant global power, and that sure as hell isn’t gonna happen if we replace our men and women in uniform’s jets and rifles with horses and bayonets. Now that’s just common sense.”
“I have made dozens of trips to the Middle East. I know that part of the world better than any of the other candidates. Isn’t someone like me more suited for facilitating diplomatic relations in the Arab world than someone who was sipping strawberry daiquiris on the beach while Ben Ghazi attacked the US consulate.” Lindsey runs his tongue across your body, tracing a path from your navel to your breast. “Now, I enjoy a refreshing mint julep as much as the next guy, but I sure as hell would’ve put my drink down during the worst terrorist attack aimed at Americans since September 11th.”
“Not to discredit these other fine ladies and gentleman who are taking part in this election, but I think that it’s painfully obvious that I am the only correct choice to run this nation during these most trying of times. If you love America, and I would think that most of you do, then you’ll vote for Lindsey Graham.” Lindsey gets up and, without a word, prances off into a thick cloud of fog.
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