Hillary Clinton sat an ornately carved wooden desk, resting her face in her palms. The trials had been going on for what seemed like a lifetime. Had it been 6 months? A year? The days were getting hard to count, probably because the only sleep she got was when she collapsed, too exhausted to hold her head up. He was persistent, but she wasn’t prepared to give up. He would not break her.
A yellow light on the wall clicked on. Hillary cleared her throat and pressed down the red button on the intercom in front of her.
“Commence to the next stage,” she said.
John B. Anderson’s Quest
It was September 21st, 1980, and The white-haired fox John B. Anderson stood on the podium, ready for the first Presidential debate against Ronald Reagan. That man had already beaten him once, in the Republican Primary. And he would beat him again, he knew. John polled at just fifteen percent; the race was between Carter and Reagan. It was a lost cause, but not one he could abandon. He needed to use this… this terrible election with two subpar choices, with a discontent American people and an opening for a third party… an Independence Party, maybe… that could break the hold of the two-party system and free America from the political strife and corruption that had plagued the country for a decade.
The Moderator Bill Moyers approached the stage, and Ronald stepped onto his own podium. John knew it was almost time to–
The lighting rig creaked as Ted Cruz kneeled atop the metal trusses. Thousands of people rustled beneath him, mumbling to each other about thugs and ISIS and welfare between mouthfuls of popcorn and soda. These were Ted’s kind of people. He used to fill town halls and lecture halls full of wide eyed, white skinned, blue collared Americans like these. They would come for miles to hear him preach the American truth. About how his family heard the sweet song of Lady Liberty and pierced through the iron curtain to fall into the warm embrace of her bosom. About how, with nothing but sticktoitiveness and and the grace of God Almighty, he overcame adversity to seize his dream, one which is shared with all young patriotic boys; becoming a Junior Senator from Texas.
But they weren’t here for Ted. Ted couldn’t fill a minivan these days because of him. That’s why he had to die. Read more
Ted and John: Super-Teamup Fight Time Go!
It was almost time.
Ted Cruz pulled up the spandex on his suit in a glorious montage, showing his latex gloves, his American flag-patterned boots, his metal-studded codpiece, and the amazing T-embroidered shirt he wore to top it all off, complete with seemingly permanently-erect nipples poking through. He was almost ready to do battle against all the baddies. He was… the Firebrand.
I didn’t write anything new this weekend, but what I’m giving you here is a dive into the behind the scenes. The seedy underbelly of HCAD, populated by all of the stories too shocking, too vile, and (more often than not) too shitty to see the light of day… until now. This was a story that I started writing back during the dark ages of the 2016 election, back when the Republican field still numbered in the double digits. I don’t even remember exactly what I was ultimately going for, but it was something about Ron Paul/Rand Paul fans arguing in the style of movie or video game fans on a forum and, likewise, was formatted like a forum post. I think it was a decent idea, but I ultimately scrapped it for something else equally terrible (Barty Randerson, maybe? I don’t remember the timeline very well.) Well, either way, enjoy, I guess.
“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.
The unconscious Jeb! was sprawled across his couch, his slacks and dress shirt disheveled and stained with orange tinted smears and brown splotches. The floor, coffee table, and every inch of the couch not occupied by his bloated body were covered in sticky beer and soda cans and food wrappers, all licked free of crumbs. Jeb’s phone, rattled the half empty Mtn Dew that was placed on top of it, jolting Jeb! awake and sending detritus streaming off the couch and crashing to the floor like a waterfall of aluminum. Jeb! blindly swatted at the tabletop until he grabbed his phone and hit talk.
“Whuuuuh…. what the hell do you want? Who is this?” Jeb! mumbled into the receiver.
The Manchurian Presidential Candidate
The final debate between Presidential Candidates Donald Agnew and Mitt Nixon in Baltimore, Maryland was about to begin. It was going to be the first color-televised debate in American history, and was set to bring in some of the best ratings of all time.
But Donald Agnew was feeling sick.
His advisor Joe Kennedy came up to him as they sat in their green room and rubbed his back. “You’re gonna get this,” he said. “You’re gonna get this. We’re gonna win this fuckin’ election.”
“I don’t know… There’s something weird inside me… I must have eaten Texan or something…”
“Don’t worry about it. Just go on the stage and let everything happen.”
Dispelling the Fiction
Marco sat down in his chair, sweat pouring down from his forehead.
He had lost.
But it wasn’t his game to lose, so he just really didn’t understand. How could he not win? He was supposed to. Everyone said he was going to. But then he… didn’t.
The Prince of Light
The sunrise shone brightly like an omelette, steam rising from the skillet as the cheese melted into its surface. No, wait. More like a sponge cake rising in the oven. Yeah, that sounded better.