[Election ‘016 042] The Bush Identity

[Election ‘016 042] The Bush Identity


Jeb Bush says that he is the right choice for the presidency. He says that he can solve the nation’s problems. That he is strong enough to take down ISIS. That he will win the election without resorting to “petty insults and name calling.” Well, Jeb, you know what’s worse than petty insults and name calling? Picking your nose. Yes, as you can see, John Ellis “John Ellis Bush” Bush is a bit of a nasal prospector. Maybe he plans on funding a war on ISIS with all the gold that he mines? Who knows? Well, the American people know not to elect a smelly booger eater like Jeb Bush.


This message is not in any way endorsed by Donald Trump.

Poor, darling Jeb! flung his arms up in the air and tried, in vain, to flip the large conference table that he sat at the head of. He huffed and puffed, flinging any small objects within reach of his flailing arms onto the ground. One of his aides swaddled sweet Jeb! in a blanket and cooed softly into his ear, momentarily subsiding his rage. Jeb! sat down and took a deep breath, but his little heart was still beating a mile a minute.

“Now.” Jeb! panted. “I’m not gonna yell on account of me being plum tuckered out, but someone better tell me who’s behind this dang picture before I start another ruckus!”

“Jeb!, baby! We’re your inner circle, your closest compatriots! Do you really think that one of us would betray the next president of the United States for a couple of bucks? We’re all just looking out for number one.” Gerome Claypool, Jeb!’s campaign manager, said with a wink and a point.

“I’m sorry to be puttin’ your feet to the fire, guys. It’s just…” Jeb! sniffled, “…this election is so hard! Nobody is playing nice and they’re ganging up on me just because my big bro didn’t do the best job. I’m sure they would like me if they just gave me a chance.”

“Maybe the problem isn’t with you, Jeb!, it’s with how you market yourself,” Gerome said.

“I’m just trying to give the people the real Jeb!.”

“Maybe Gerome’s right,” one of Jeb!’s other lackeys chimed in. “The Jeb! we know is this wild, off the wall guy. The kind of person who flies by the seat of his pants, no holds barred, which can lead to… uhm… mishaps, like the boogey incident.”

“So you think we should do something hip? Like one of those rapper names?”

“Nah, Jeb!, I think what she is trying to say is that we need to give the people a more calm and collected Jeb!, one that will make less silly mistakes. Less of a Jeb! and more of a-” Gerome lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper, “-a Jeb.”

“I don’t know, Gerome. I think it’ll be kinda hard to reel in all of this boundless energy. My daddy always told me I was a bit of a spitfire.”

“Just remember that from now on, you’ve gotta hold back that burning passion until the moment is right. Then it’ll be your time to shine, Jebby Boy!”

“I’m gonna be like a… uhm… like a majestic eagle perched upon the highest bow of a pine, just waiting to soar… or something… I guess.”

* * *

Jeb is a presidential candidate. He is good at being a politician. He has been the governor of Florida for a while, and Florida is a pretty big place. America is also pretty big, bigger than Florida even. His opponents may have also been leaders of places, but they were much smaller places. John Kasich was the governor of Ohio? That is substantially smaller than Florida. Jim Gilmore? I don’t even know if he is still running, but Virginia is probably smaller than Florida. Chris Christie? Don’t even get me started on how small New Jersey is in comparison to Florida. Everyone else doesn’t even have a horse in this fight, but Jeb’s horse is pretty big. Vote Jeb.


“How’s about them apples, Jebby?” Gerome pointed at the flatscreen with a pointer, as if to make it clear which apples he was referring to. “That’s the all new, all different Jeb, ready to show the American people that they have a safe, stable candidate to invest their confidence in.”

“Not gonna lie, Gerome… that was probably the most beautiful advertisement I have ever seen. When will it be ready to air?”

“It’s already on the front page of YouTube and the living room of every house in Iowa. Your numbers are gonna shoot through the roof, my boy! The sky’s the limit and you are gonna be waving at that Trump joker from all the way up in the stratosphere!”

“Come here, buddy.” Jeb waved over Gerome and flung his arms around him in an uncomfortably tight and uncomfortably long hug.

* * *

You may have heard that Jeb Bush is a smelly booger eater, but did you know that he also had to go to the bathroom? That’s right, at a rally in Concord, New Hampshire, Jeb had to stop in the middle of his speech… to take a poop. Could you not wait until you were finished talking to the fine people of New Hampshire before making boom boom… or are you saying that they are less important than your poo? That is just wrong, Jeb. Next time around, Jeb Bush should probably think for a minute or two… before he makes a poo.

Gerome stood behind Jeb, gently massaging his shoulders. Jeb stared off into the middle distance, a flush of hatred bubbling beneath the surface of his pouting face.

“Stop standing around and get Mr. Bush his milk!” Gerome hissed at an intern.

“It’s… it’s okay, Gerome. I’m cool.” Jeb brushed away Gerome’s hands away and propped himself against the conference table. “I’ve just gotta wrap my head around this whole dang situation. I show the people my real, feisty self and they make fun of me for one little booger. I try to hide my wild side beneath the cover of a blase, uninteresting white 50-something with little to no semblance of a personality and they make fun of my bathroom habits. What else is there left to do? Do they… do they hate me?”

“Impossible! Nobody could hate you, Jebby! You’re a man of the people with a heart of gold! The problem is that, no matter what Jeb you show the world, your opponents will do anything to knock you down a peg. Maybe… maybe the secret isn’t to change the way we show them Jeb…. maybe the secret is to not show them Jeb at all? We don’t need honesty or charisma when we have the allure of the great unknown. Don’t give them Jeb! or Jeb… give them-”

“Give them Jeb?”

* * *

From deep within the heart of the Everglades comes a force. From beneath the gnarled roots of the mangroves it calls, awakening a feeling in your core that you never knew existed. What could this sensation be? Passion? Malice? The desire for a knowledgeable career politician with decades of governing experience that isn’t afraid to get down and dirty to deal with the problems, both foreign and domestic, facing our nation? Ennui? It beckons to you, draws you to your local voting precinct. What sort of secrets lie in wait? What sort of arcane machinations are at work, just beyond the naked eye’s reach? Do you have what it takes to uncover the mystery… of Jeb?

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