[Election ‘016 51] Eve of Iowa

Ted Cruz

Ted got out a pack of crayons and set them on the table next to a large piece of construction paper. He opened the pack and sniffed that crayon-y smell fresh out of the box. He took out the macaroni-and-cheese one and began to draw a map of Iowa.

Drawing this map of Iowa and then dividing it into its ninety-nine counties was the only way he could unwind and relax tonight. It helped him take his mind off the stress and put his energies into something creative and powerful and beautiful and intuitive.

He just wished that President Reagan could see him now. His drawing was sure to look great and represent the heart of America, but he wanted more than anything for Reagan to be proud of him,

One day, though, he would make the man happy, he thought as he marked a giant green X over Des Moines.

[Election ‘016 038] Scott Walker, Texas Ranger

Frank Inglewood sprinted down the narrow backstreet, the mere thought of what was pursuing him driving his weary legs past the point of collapse. Whatever pain he was in was nothing compared to what… he had in store. Inglewood ducked down an alley, knocking over a stack of festering metal garbage cans, but his pursuer wasn’t slowed. He turned down another alley. Another. Another. Dead end. Shit. But there is no way in hell he could’ve caught up. Frank leaned up against the rusted metal door frame and caught his breath.

“Stop right there,” Scott Walker said.

[Election ‘016 28] Cage Match

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!”

[Election ‘016 008] Slingshot, Scott

Scott Walker, Scott Walker. What do we have here? I see you standing in front of a white wall, and you’re staring at it very intently, but I don’t know what you’re seeing in this wall. Could it be that you see something nobody else does? Very mysterious, Scott.

You turn around and look at me, and you don’t look so happy. What’s wrong, Scott? Cat got your tongue? Did a dog get your tongue? Surely something nabbed your tongue and got right outta here with it.

“Nobody’s got my tongue,” you say. Well then, what’s up with this wall business, Scott? I can’t understand what you’re doing, Scott. I don’t think anyone can. “I’m sad,” you say. I just don’t think that’s a reason to be staring at a white wall though. Why not look out the window, or in the mirror? Go people-watching, see all the sad people who are sadder than you.