“Honey, can you go check the mail?” Lincoln Chafee asked his wife from the living room. She didn’t answer; she must have gone outside to do some gardening. “Ah, it’s okay. I’ll go do it,” he said.
It was a long trek from the house, and down the driveway, all the way to the mailbox, but Linc was ready to do it!
“Linc is ready to do it, eh…” he said to himself. “That’d be a good slogan…”
He finally made it to his mailbox and opened it. There were a few bills, a letter from his grandkids, and… what was that?
“Your GOLDEN opportunity… Act now… On sale at your local grocery store…Oh my.” This small flier, with an image of C-3PO and a large spaceship behind him, showed several boxes of different brands of cereal, all with various characters on them. But the main attraction of this cereal flier was the proclamation: One of these boxes had a golden ticket that would let the discoverer go to the premiere of Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens as the VIP guest!
Lincoln knew exactly what he had to do now.
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The murmur of idle chatter and the scooting of restless foldout chairs filled the auditorium. Thousands of people, clad in torn up wife beaters and Marlboro light jackets, sat densely packed under the blaring stadium lights. A small man in a white and black striped shirt walked unnoticed from a side entrance and made his way up to the center of the ring, where a microphone dangled from the ceiling. He tapped on the microphone three times with his knuckled and the crowd silenced themselves, their eyes drawn to the man.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. People of all age, color, and creed are gathered under this roof for one thing and one thing only…” the man said into the microphone, holding onto the syllables for dramatic effect. “To celebrate our fine nation’s democratic system…. with a good ol’ fashioned smackdown!” Read more ›
Day of Chafee
Lincoln Chafee sat in his chair behind of his booth in front of his front yard in front of his house. He had some pitchers of lemonade, and a few oatmeal raisin cookies, and a big sign on the top of the booth that said: “Linc 2016! Only 50 Cents!”
He was just really happy to be out here. When he read on Politico that he had the least money of any of the candidates, he realized it was time for him to do some fundraising. when he was governor in Rhode Island, he didn’t really do much fundraising; this time, it was all going to change.
And so that’s what led him here, ready to replenish his Super PAC, as well as the thirst and hunger of anyone willing to pony up (he laughed to himself as he thought this, thinking about his horse Buttercup).
His wife Stephanie came up to the booth and dropped two quarters down. “I hope you aren’t getting too hot,” she said. She took a cookie and bit down on it. She made a weird face. “Ew.”
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The pale-skinned man sprayed his face with metallic paint, and, as the men next to him cheered him on, leapt onto a nearby car in a fiery explosion of stupidity and also fire. The car was perfectly intact, because, obviously it was protected from suicide bombers. It was the President’s fucking car. They thought of shit like suicide bombing road bandits when they built cars for Presidents.
“Dammit!” Martin O’Malley shouted, slamming his fist onto his desk. The sheer force of the impact cratered the desk. “Get me a new desk, this one is wearing out!” Several men rushed in, grabbed the desk, and carried it away from the Campaign HQ control room, hopefully bringing in a new one soon enough.
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It was cloudy outside, and it looked to start raining very soon. Not a good day for riding horses, much to Lincoln Chafee’s chagrin. He felt that, if given the opportunity, he could take Buttercup out for a spin, and go east, and further and further east, until he reached the sea, where he would leave the horse and continue swimming across the Atlantic.
Instead, because it was about to rain, he went into the barn and checked up on his other two horses. Ford and Mercury stood, sleeping, as if the faint rumblings of thunder were like a ceiling fan to them, calming them to a peaceful sleep. Lincoln wished he could be as courageous as them in the midst of the storm, but he knew it would not come true.
He left these two horses a fine dish of caviar and went to meet Buttercup. This horse of his was special. He was, in actuality, his father, who had been reincarnated into an equestrian upon his original death as a human being. All members of the Chafee family underwent this metamorphosis of the soul, and Lincoln himself would have this happen to him soon enough, as he was gaining on his years himself.
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