“Where are we going, Jeb!?” Ben Carson asked. He stared intently at the passing blur of green that streamed by outside the car window. “Do we have another debate today?”
“Yeah, buddy. A big ol’ debate. Everyone will be there to see you, champ.” Jeb! pat Ben on the head and gave his coarse salt and pepper hair a scratch.
Final Moments
Thedude3445
Ben Carson felt terrible.
It was a special kind of terrible, though. The kind where his head throbbed, every vein in his body pulsed out, and the only release he could get was that he was going numb from the blood loss.
He had been in many surgeries over the years, but it was obviously never with him on the receiving end. He now knew how it must feel to go through one of his famous brain splices without any anesthetic. He no longer wished to be called Science Man, after all this. He realized that Ben was good enough for him.
Mitt Romney’s Dream at 2:30 AM on January 27th, 2016
by Thedude3445
Foreword: All Primary maps were generated using a cool tool from RealClearPolitics. Check it out here. You may have to open the maps in a different tab to view them in full-size.
1.
January 27th, 2016
Mitt Romney laid over in his bed and his face hitt Ann’s back. It woke him up, his eyes jolting open. His vision was blurry and his mind was spinning from whatever he was dreaming about.
He then felt the warmth of his blanket and of Ann’s back. He put his arm around her, put his head back against his pillow, and closed his eyes.
It was a very long, cold night, and Mitt’s mind cleared into an icy Iowan landscape, one that he was so familiar of, for all those years before…
2.
January 29th, 2016
Sean Hannity turned to Mitt in that same-as-always spin and smiled. “So here on the show today we have a very special guest coming to talk to us. It’s former Massachusetts Governor and Presidential Nominee Mitt Romney. Mitt, how are you today?”
Neurospace
Thedude3445
“Don’t call me Ben Carson anymore. From now on, my name will be Science Man.”
Agent of Chaos
Thedude3445
Rick Santorum, wearing an azure sweater-vest, sat down on his pyrite throne, clasped his hands together, and grinned. There was nothing the world could do to stop him from having the best day he would ever have, and everything about that made him giddy. As he picked up a slice of apple pie with his hands and shoved it into his mouth, he felt like doing nothing more than laughing. He didn’t, of course, because then he would have choked, but it took a great effort to avoid cackling. Once he swallowed the pie, he wiped his mouth with an American flag-patterned handkerchief and turned on the television in front of him.
On the screen was a local news station, interviewing the common people. Rick chortled at those with no influence over anyone’s lives but their own, or maybe their families if they were lucky. He couldn’t comprehend what the anchor was actually saying in his sing-songy newscaster inflection, but it didn’t matter to Rick. Rather, it was an opportunity for madness that had just presented itself, and he would do no less than seize it like the police would a kilogram of crack cocaine in the trunk of the Minority Whip’s car (AKA the Minority Whip).
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