Conway’s Cured

June 11, 2017

“Hey, Rock, it sure is a Monday morning,” Jacob said as we walked into the school, as high school students are wont to do on Monday mornings, which I believe I’ve already mentioned this was.

“Yes, it is, Jacob.  What an astute, insightful, and accurate observation that was by you.  You sure are a genius, you, to figure that out all on your own” Rock said.  I may be paraphrasing, but who gives a shit.  The point is they were standing around talking about the dumb shit people talk about when nothing’s going on.

“Hey, guys.  Guess what?” Lucy said, walking up to them, bouncing with the excitement that comes with being able to introduce the plot.

“What?” Jacob asked.  “Is this going to piss me off?”

“No.  This is good,” Lucy said, either unaware of or ignoring the fact that most things pissed Jacob off, and her news would in all likelihood do the same.  “Sarah Conway’s back!”*

“Who’s Sarah Conway?”

Lucy stared at Jacob.  “Jacob, you know who Sarah is.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’ve gone to school with her since kindergarten.”

Jacob shrugged.  “I try not to pay attention or become attached to the people around me.  Ignoring their drama makes my life less stressful.”

Lucy sighed.  “She’s the girl who left at the end of last year.  She had to seek help for her mental health issues.  You seriously don’t remember her?”

“I make it a point to forget about people as soon as they exit from my life.  Hell, half the time I forget my parents exist while I’m at school.  It happens.”

“So, if I left for some reason, you’d forget about me in a week?”

“No, no.  We’re close.  I’d remember you.”

“Dude, that’s what you said about Sarah,” Rock said.

“I know.  I lied to her too.”

“Guys, I’m serious,” Lucy said, not joking.  “This is her first day back.  I need you to be super supportive.”

“Ugh, you know I can’t deal with people’s emotions.  It’s like, ‘ooh, I’m upset because I’m a person and I have feelings’.  Come on.  Fuck off.”

“Jacob, I’m serious,” Lucy said repetitively, repeating this assertion.  Again.  “We’re having a big party for her at lunch, and I need everyone to be there to show they care.”

“I care every bit as much about her wellbeing as I do for any of my other classmates.  Which is to say, not at all,” Jacob said.  “I’m not going to act like suddenly she’s my best friend and I’m super concerned just to show everyone what a great person I am.”

“You’re an asshole.  You can’t treat her differently just because she had mental health issues.”

“Has mental health issues,” Rock interjected.  “These things don’t just go away.  She’s been treated, not cured.”

“Whatever.  The point is that you need to treat her the same as everyone else.”

“That’s what I’m doing.  You’re the one throwing a ‘look at the mentally retarded’ person’ party.”

“Don’t say mentally retarded.  One, it’s not the correct thing to say.  Now we say, well, I forget what the sugar-coated term du jour is, but it’s not retarded.  Two, she’s not retarded, she’s just depressed.  Her intellectual capacity isn’t diminished, she just has difficulty regulating her emotions.”

“Whatever.  The point is that you’re the one drawing attention to her disability.  I don’t remember you throwing the wheelchair kid who doesn’t have a name because he probably won’t get mentioned again a ‘look at the physical retard’ party for his disability.”

“It’s not a disability.  It’s a difference that should be celebrated because it makes him a unique person.”

“I think he’d rather be able to walk.”

“What I’m saying is all I’m doing for Sarah is what I’d do for any of my classmates.”

“No, you wouldn’t.  When was the last time you threw Jeremy a party?”

Lucy shrugged.  “Who’s Jeremy?”

“He’s the weird, quiet kid.  The one who always sits in the back and keeps to himself.  He might actually be suicidal.”

“Nobody cares about Jeremy.  Besides, he’s not suicidal.”

“How do you know?  Have you asked him?”

“Eww, no.  I don’t want to talk to him.  You ask him.”

“No, because I don’t care.  Which is my point.  You don’t care either, you’re just pretending to care because it makes you feel better about yourself and everyone is watching.”

“Whatever, Jacob,” Lucy said.  “I have to go to class.  See you this afternoon.”

Rock and Jacob watched as Lucy turned and walked away.  “You two should just fuck and get it over with,” Rock said.

“Shut up, Rock.”  Jacob turned and kept his glare on Lucy as she walked away.  “She does have a nice body, though.”

Rock laughed, and Jacob heard a small, muffled laugh beside him.  He turned to see Jeremy standing there, pretending not to be listening as he opened his locker.

“What’s up, Jeremy?” Jacob asked.

“Oh, uh, hi, Jacob.”

“What you been up to lately?”

“Nothing, really.  Just kind of, you know, stuff.”

“Considering suicide?” Jacob joked.

“Uh, actually, a little bit.” Jeremy finished closing his locker and turned to Jacob.

Jacob shrugged.  “Well, always good to keep your options open.”




*The exclamation point is the author’s way of showing that she was excited.  Though honestly, you probably could have figured out that she was excited from the context.  In fact, you probably didn’t need me to explain what an exclamation point is either, making this whole footnote superfluous.  Oh, well.

The Morning After

June 3, 2017

“Hey, mister, come on,” a tiny voice said as a little hand shook the passed-out Rock.  “Open your mouth.”

“No, daddy, I don’t like this game,” Rock mumbled, still mostly asleep.

“Brandon, what are you doing?” Lucy asked from across the room as she rubbed Jacob’s back while he took the ibuprofen and drank the water she’d brought to him.  Brandon laughed like a five-year-old idiot.  Not like a particularly stupid five-year-old, just in the way that all kids are stupid.

“I’m trying to put a bug in his mouth.”


“Because it’s funny.”

“That’s not funny,” Jacob said, swallowing a sip of water.  “If you really want to assert dominance, you ought to pee on him.  That’s like the gold standard of something being yours.  That and being able to jack off in comfort.”

“What’s jack off?” Brandon asked, because again, the kid is five.

“It’s when you pull on your penis repeatedly until white stuff comes out.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Typically because you don’t have a woman willing to let you stick it in her vagina.”

“What’s a vagina?”

Jacob sighed and started to explain, but Lucy cut him off.  “I’m going to have to stop you there.  You are not explaining the female reproductive system to a five-year-old.”

Jacob shrugged.  “Why not?  He’s got to learn it someday.”

“I would agree with you, Jacob, but given the men I’ve been with, that’s clearly not the case.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Jacob said resignedly.  “The kid’s gay anyway.”

“What makes you say that?” Lucy said, sitting up in her seat, her voice suddenly gaining a new level of interest.

Jacob shrugged.  “He’s talking about peeing in some dude’s mouth.  Sounds pretty gay to me.”

“No, Jacob, you were talking about peeing in his mouth.  Brandon wanted to put a bug in it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jacob said.  “Why would he do that?  That’s not a fetish thing.”

“I don’t know,” Lucy responded.  “Probably because he’s five.”

“So, five-year-old’s have weird fetishes, is what you’re saying?”

“No, I think they just like doing stupid crap.  Though, come to think of it, you were the one talking about peeing in Rock’s mouth, so what’s that make you?”

“Gay?” Jacob asked.  “So what if I am, Lucy, huh?  You got a problem with that?”

“No, it’s 2017.  I think that’d be awesome.  A gay best friend would do wonders for my cool kid score, though it wouldn’t earn me nearly as many points as a gay kid brother of whom I’m super supportive.  My problem is that you were talking about having a five-year old pee in the mouth of someone who’s incapacitated, so you’re not gay so much as…”

“Just drop it.”

“A vicarious pedophilic rapist with urolagnia.”

“Right.  I think it’s time for us to get going.  See you in school on Monday,” Jacob said, as Rock woke up fresh as a daisy just in time for the story to end.

The Party

May 22, 2017

“Man, this place is packed,” Jacob said, looking around Lucy’s house uncomfortably.

“I know, dude.  This party’s going to be the bomb,” Rock said.

“I was thinking the opposite.  Too many people.”

“No, dude.  Check it out.  That’s what makes a party fun.  Besides, it’s the first one of the year.  You know everyone is going to show up for it.  Let’s find little miss hostess.”

“Good idea,” Jacob said.  “Once we make our appearance, we can leave.”

“Haha, yeah.  Not what I was thinking.  I meant she can tell us where the booze is.”

They soon located the hostess, who was somewhere doing something.  Her flush face brightened when she saw the two approach.

“Jacob! It’s so cool that you’re here,” she said, leaning in for a hug.  “Rock, hi.  Thanks for coming.”

Rock clicked his tongue and nodded his head in a manner that was supposed to be cool.  “What up, Lucy?”

“Um, nothing.  Hosting a party.  Anyway, let’s get you two a drink.  What’s a party without alcohol, right?”

“I agree,” Jacob said.  “If I’m going to be surrounded by a bunch of people I don’t like, I’m going to need something to help loosen the tension.”

Lucy walked over to the makeshift bar that was her kitchen counter as Rock and Jacob began to follow when something, or someone, caught Jacob’s attention out of the corner of his eye.  A girl that he’d never seen before, and it’s not sexist to say girl because I am referring to someone who’s in high school, walked by about twenty feet away.  She waved to some random guy that Jacob also didn’t know, the kind of seductive wave that teenage girls give when they know someone is attracted to them and they have control of the relationship.  Jacob craned his neck to try to keep his view but the girl soon disappeared into the crowd.

“Yo, Jacob,” Rock said, bringing him out of his daze.  “What do you want?”

“Uh,” Jacob said as he shrugged.  “Whiskey and coke, I guess.”

“So, you two looking forward to the new school year?” Lucy asked inanely as she poured the drinks, already knowing the answer, not that she cared.  She just wanted to feign interest in her two new guests before getting back to the people she actually cared about.

“Not really.  School blows monkey dick,” Rock said.

“Cool, cool.  I agree,” Lucy said, splitting her time evenly between looking at Rock and Jacob and glancing around the room.  She looked at the watch she wasn’t wearing.  “Well, I should be getting back to the party.”

“What do you mean?” Jacob asked.  “We’re at the party.”

“Right, I hear you.  What I meant was I need to get back to keeping an eye on Nate and Theresa.  She’s trying to seduce him, I think, and I can’t let that happen.”

“Are you sure you should be spying on people and meddling this early into the school year?” Jacob asked.

Lucy shrugged.  “Why not?  The Patriot Act says I can.”

“I don’t think the Patriot Act says that.  Have you even read the Patriot Act?”

“Of course not.  Nobody has.  Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Lucy walked away as Rock and Jacob leaned against the counter.  Jacob turned his head to Rock.

“So, what do you want to do?”

Rock shrugged.  “Find some strange, I guess.”

“Are you saying that because you’re actually horny, or because you think it’s what you’re supposed to want to do?”

“Does it matter?  Some nice, young tail here.”

“Stop saying that.  You sound like a sixty-one-year-old pedophile,” Jacob said, shaking his head.  “Besides, these aren’t the girls we should be going after for one night stands.  Too many complications hooking up with people you know.  We should go find us some eighty-year-olds.”

“What? Dude, gross.”

“No, think about it.  They’re so senile that you don’t have to call the next day, because they won’t remember.”

“Oh, yeah.  And if you’re awful, who cares?  They’ll just forget anyway.”

“Right,” Jacob said.  “Weird that’s where you went with it, but right.  Also, no need for morning after pills.”

Rock shrugged.  “I don’t use them anyway.  I just wait three months and push them down a flight of stairs.”

“That’s, uh, pretty sure that’s not cool, Rock.”

“Since when is killing babies not cool?”

“Right,” Jacob said slowly, in a long drawn out manner.  “Look, I really don’t like where this is going, so I’m heading this way now.  I’ll meet up with you at the end of the night.  Good?”

Rock shrugged.  “Sure.”

English Class

April 30, 2017

Jacob walked into the first class of the day and took the first seat he could find, in front of Lucy Fontaine and next to David Starger.

“Heh, fancy seeing you here,” David said.

“Yeah, fancy that,” Jacob said, turning around to talk to Lucy.  “Hey, person who isn’t David.  How was your summer?”

“It was alright, I guess.  I don’t know.  You were there for a lot of it.”

“Oh, yeah.  That’s right.  We’re friends.”

“Right.  So why are you asking?”

Jacob shrugged.  “Seemed like a good segue.  So, who do we have for Mr. Garamna’s English class, which we’re currently in.”

“Mr. Garamna.  Which, again, you already knew.”

“Uh, no I didn’t.”

“His name is on the door, and it’s written again on the board.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“It’s also on your schedule, which you would have had to read to get to the right place.”

“Well, then, what do you know about him?”

“We had him last year.”

“I didn’t,” said Juan Conner, the large running back for the football team who had been sitting next to Lucy the whole time.  “What’s he like?”

Lucy shrugged.  “He’s alright, I guess.  He’s the moderator for the theater club, I think.”

Juan tapped David’s shoulder.  “Hey, David, you’re into fruity bullcrap, right?”

“We call it theater, and yes.”

“What’s this dude like?”

“Oh, he’s the best,” said David, turning around and joining the conversation.  “He’s the coolest, and he’s super funny.”

“Funny as in actually funny, or funny as in ‘when girls say their friends are funny’ funny?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Right, how can I explain this?” Juan said, trying to come up with a way to phrase his question without hurting David’s feeling.

“Would normal people think he’s funny, or is he some lamewad who’s only funny to people as lame and boring as he is?” asked Jacob, not giving a fuck about David’s feelings.

“Given that it’s David, I’m pretty sure lame,” Lucy said.

“He’s not lame.  He’s awesome.  You’ll see,” David said, defending his lamewad mentor.  “He plays guitar, and drives a Prius.”

“So what? Driving a Prius doesn’t make the guy Jesus,” Jacob said.  “First off, Jesus couldn’t drive, and secondly, he’s dead.  Well, kind of.  Maybe.  Actually, what is Jesus now?”

“What do you mean?” asked Lucy.  “Like is he alive or dead?  Um, dead, I guess.”

“I’d say alive,” Juan said.  “After the whole resurrection thing, anyway.”

“But is he really alive, or just walking as a dead man?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Jacob said.  “The point I’m trying to make is that driving a hybrid car is like the least cool thing somebody can do.  Next to loving your neighbor.”

“Well, I disagree,” David said.  “Some of us think caring about the earth is pretty cool.”

“Well it isn’t.  Shit, I won’t even buy a notebook unless I have a guarantee that it was made by enslaved orphans of war, preferably to fund another war.  Fuck corporate responsibility.”

“Dude, why you got to be such a dick?” Juan asked.

“Same reason you play football, I guess,” Jacob said.  He shrugged.  “I’m good at it.”

Mr. Garamna walked in and the class began to quiet for some reason.  Out of respect, I guess, though that seems unlikely for high school students.  Jacob felt a tap on his shoulder.

“By the way, party at my place on Friday night,” Lucy said, ending the story.

The First Day

April 12, 2017

“Yo, Jacob, what’s up?” Rock asked, walking up and greeting Jacob by his locker.  It was their first day of the junior year in high school, and somehow both present day and twenty to thirty years before Jacob decided to run for president, despite the fact that the campaign occurred about half a year earlier.  The timeline is a little shaky and may also jump around depending on the needs of the author.  Also, everyone is eighteen so the sexual references won’t be creepy.  I’d make them twenty-one, but I don’t think anyone actually cares about underage drinking.

“Not much.  You check out this year’s freshman class?”

“Dude, you know that was the first thing I did.  Got some nice tail in there,” Rock said, ignoring the narrator’s comments about the whole eighteen-year-old thing and getting creepy with it anyway.

“Rock, don’t be a pedophile,” Jacob said, shaking his head in disgust.

“What do you mean?  We’re juniors.  They’re freshman.  They’re only, like, two years younger than us.”

“Sixteen doesn’t seem right for freshmen,” Jacob said, beginning to think about it before deciding it wasn’t worth trying to make sense of.  “Anyway, doesn’t matter.  You’re eighteen, they aren’t.  It’s illegal.”

“Yeah, but it’s not pedophilia.  At worst, it’s statutory rape.”

“Real convincing argument.  I’m sure the judge will let you go as soon as he hears that one,” Jacob said, shutting his locker.  “I’m not a pedophile, your honor.  I just raped the girl.”

“Raped statutorily,” Rock said.

“Doesn’t matter.  Still makes you a sex offender.”

“Hmm. True dat.  Anyway, who you got for homeroom?”

“Mrs. Dozier. You?”

“Same,” Rock said, because I didn’t want to create a new character for Jacob to talk to.  Then, to advance the plot, Rock said, “Should we get going?”

The two walked into the classroom and took a seat.  They started engaging in a conversation that was neither interesting nor relevant to the plot.  After a few moments, David Starger walked in and sat in front of them.  He turned around.

“Hey guys.  How was your summer?”

“It was good,” Jacob said, while Rock ignored him.  They sat in silence for a few moments while David continued to stare at them.  The awkwardness overpowered Jacob and he asked the question both he and Rock had been desperately trying to avoid.  “How was yours?”

“Oh, it was great,” David said, before launching into a full-blown story about his summer that nobody cared about.  Both Rock and Jacob, and me, quite frankly, zoned out, so I have no idea what was actually said during this verbal onslaught, except that he started talking about some stupid play he was in and ended it with, “I was at Walmart last night, but it didn’t go so well.”

“Hey, I was at Walmart too,” Rock blurted out before realizing that he’d made the mistake of engaging David.  Rock sat back in his seat trying to disengage, but David perked up, jumping at the opportunity to talk more.

“Oh, really?  Huh, guess I didn’t see you.  What were you doing there?”

“I was snorting coke off a hooker’s dick.  What the fuck do you think I was doing at Walmart?  I was picking up some snacks,” Rock said.  “What were you doing?”

“Heh.  I already told you,” David said, giving that sarcastic, friendly little laugh with undertones of being hurt, the way people do when they know people have been ignoring them but are trying to pretend it isn’t so.  Yeah, David was kind of a pathetic little bitch.  “I was trying to sell the rest of the raffle tickets to support my theater group.”

“Right.  I totally knew that because I was definitely listening to you and not thinking about whether groundhogs and woodchucks are the same thing.”  They are.  “Anyway, how did that go?  Because I totally care.”  Jacob and David weren’t sure whether Rock was being sarcastic at this point.  Neither was Rock.

“While as I was saying, not well.  I was there for about two hours, but nobody seemed to want to help me.”

“Of course, nobody wanted to help you,” Jacob said, inserting himself into the conversation for the first time.  “You have to remember that nobody cares about you.  Why would they?  People are mindless nobs who are focused on their own lives.  Nobody woke up this morning and wondered how they could help some random kid at Walmart support his theater group.”

“Hmm, I guess you make a good point,” David said, half-turning in his seat.  “Hey, I don’t suppose either of you would be interested in buying a few?  It would really help us out.”

“Oh, David, I’d love to, but I can’t because some polite excuse,” Jacob said, standing up from his seat.  “Anyway, there’s the bell.  We have to get to class.”

“There was no bell,” David said.

“Shit, you’re right.  Well, there was supposed to be.”

The bell rang, telling the students to get to class.

“There we go.  Anyway, we have to get to class.  Have a nice year, David.”

Party Planning

November 1, 2016

“Alright, so we’ll put the bobbing for gherkins bucket over here,” Jacob said to Rock, who dutifully wrote that down on the pad of paper he was carrying around.  He looked up as Lucy marched through the conference room that they had rented for their election night celebration.  “Hi, dear.”

“Jacob, what the hell are you doing?” Lucy said, looking around the room.

“I’m planning my election night watch party.  It’s going to be a blast.”

“Not if you lose.”

Jacob shrugged, and pointed to the fully stocked bar.  “That’s what that is for.”

“It’s a week until the election.  You’re supposed to be campaigning.”

“Campaigning is boring.  This is more fun.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s boring.  You have to do it.  It’s part of being a candidate.”

“Lucy, now who’s being naïve.”

“I never said anything about naivete.”

“Whatever.  Take a look around,” Jacob said, proudly gesturing to a room that would have made Caligula blush.  “When people see what I’ve created, they will come.”

“Is that an orgy pit?”

“You don’t want my party to be lame, do you?”

“I want your party to be appealing to the mainstream public.  There may be a middle ground to find between lame and orgy pit.  Like, I don’t know, maybe serve really big food or something.”

Jacob paused for a moment, then shrugged.  “We have baby-sized burritos.”

“So, you did want to go with the burritos then, and not serve the guests actual babies, correct?” Rock interjected.

“Hmm…,” Jacob hummed.  He thought for a moment before Lucy answered for him.  “Burritos.  For the love of God, burritos.”

“And if we’re going to serve the burritos, we may want to move the “Pin the penis on Donald Trump” game away from the bathrooms,” Rock suggested.

“Good thinking,” Jacob said.

“The what?”

“The party game I made up.  You know.  To mock my opponent for having a small wang,” Jacob said.  “It’s basically like pin the tail on the donkey, but you have to find the penis first, because it’s small.  And also green.  I imagine he has a lot of diseases.”

Lucy shook her head.  “I’m not sure you should be making fun of your opponent’s genitalia.”

“Right.  I agree.  That’s why we just have a couple more of those, and then we’ll move on.”

“Move on now,” Lucy said, grabbing the planning sheet from Rock.  She looked over, then looked up.  “Why do you have religious observances planned for 9:30?  I’ve never known you to be religious.”

“I’m not.  But it’s a tribute to my roots.  An homage to that cult I used to belong to.”

“Jacob, that was a church.  It wasn’t a cult.”

“They were totally a cult.  They actually believed in this guy named Jesus that rose from the dead.”

“That’s not a cult.  It’s a mainstream religion with over half the country following it.  Get over your atheism, you arrogant prick.”

“Really?  Alright.  They were pretty nice, now that you mention it.  Plus, the virgin sacrifice and barbeque they held every weekend was a lot of fun.”

“Wait, virgin what?”

“Alright, nothing to do now but sit back and wait for the results.  Rock, let’s get this party started.”

The Town Hall

October 22, 2016

“And that’s the real issue here,” Jacob said, turning away from the questioner and facing the rest of the crowd as he made whatever point he thought he was making.  “Liberals are using Susan Sarandon and Rosie O’Donnell to turn our Christian kids gay.  And when you look at Rosie O’Donnell, I have to say, who can blame them?”

“Um, Mr. Stanton, the question was what would you do to protect our water supply from contamination from big corporations,” the original questioner said.

“Yeah, and that question was stupid, so I answered a different one.  You really think corporations have nothing better to do than sit around all day and plot how to contaminate the drinking water of some dumpy middle aged chick?  That’s dumb.  You’re dumb.”

“Well, no, but without proper regulation, they might think it more cost effective to cut corners with regards to environmental protections.”

“Blah, blah, blah.  Why does she still have a microphone?  She’s practically putting me to sleep here,” Jacob said, shaking his head and turning to a man in the second row.  “Yeah, you.  You want to ask me about something I actually know and care about, or are your concerns stupid too?”

The man stood up and cleared his throat, which all people asking questions in town halls seem to do for some reason.  At least in fictional town halls.  “Mr. Stanton, as a father of two young children, I want to know what you are going to improve our failing schools.”

“First off, I asked for a question, not your life story.  Nobody cares about your fat, ugly kids.”

“My kids aren’t fat.”

“Whatever.  Secondly, this is an issue I’m very passionate about, and an area I know a lot about.  I love schools.  I go to schools all the time.  It’s where I meet most of my girlfriends.  And boyfriends.  The nice thing is at that age it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“Uh, what?”

“Overall, our schools are fantastic, but there are areas they could improve.  Security, obviously, is one area.  Another is sex education.  It needs to start much earlier, because those first graders are awful at it.  By third grade, they’re usually alright, at least in the poorer areas.  Now, America’s best and brightest can compete with any students in the world, alright?  The problem with our educational system is the retards.  And we have a lot of retards.  So, when you’re asking about how to improve the educational system, what you’re really asking is how we get rid of the retarded kids.”

“So, you’re talking about improving funding for special education programs?”

Jacob laughed.  “No.  We certainly aren’t going to throw more money away.  No, I think what we need for the less academically gifted children is something more like vocational training.  Get them around a lot of electricity, farm equipment, and other heavy machinery.  Sooner or later, I figure the problem will take care of itself.  One final question.”

In the back, a young woman stood up.  “Mr. Stanton, during the course of this town hall meeting and the campaign in general, you have proven repeatedly that you don’t respect the average voter.  Why should Americans vote for you when you clearly have such a low opinion of them?”

Jacob sneered.  “Please.  You think any of the other candidates respect the average voter?  We all think average Americans are idiots.  Hell, most Americans think the average American is an idiot.  If most voters think all other voters are stupid, why would you expect the candidates to have a higher opinion?  The only difference is that at least I’m being sincere about it.  I’m not going out and plastering on a phony smile and acting like I want to shake your hand or kiss your baby, which, by the way, looks exactly like every other goddamn baby.  I hate you, you hate me, and the important thing is that we, as Americans, all come together to hate each other.  That’s what this election is all about.  Thank you, and good night.”

The Interview

October 12, 2016

“Now, as you know, this show prides itself on helping our viewers become more informed and active in the political process by exposing them to a wide range of guests who toe the liberal line,” said Neil Neilserson, the talk show host I just made up.  “To that end, I’d like to welcome our next guest, presidential candidate Jacob Stanton.”

Jacob went on stage, waved to the crowd, then shook the host’s hand and gave him that phony hug that guests always give late night talk show hosts.  Then they did that stupid faux joking around shtick and Jacob sat down.

“How are you this evening, Mr. Stanton?” the host asked.

“I’m good, Billy,” Jacob responded.

“The name is Neal,” the host said, spelling his own name wrong and apparently not realizing that he was an unimportant side character only added to advance the plot and that his name could be changed by the narrator on a whim and was now Dickhead McDickerson.

“Whatever,” Jacob said, also not caring about Cockhead’s name.

“So, did you have a good trip?” asked the host.

“It was alright, but traffic was a little backed up on the bridge coming in.”

“Oh, yeah, there was a fire on it about a week ago.  I think they’re still down to one lane.”

“It’s a pain in my ass.”

“Well, the important thing is that nobody got hurt.”

“I don’t know,” Jacob said.  “That’s what they said about 9/11.”

The host stared at Jacob for a solid minute.  “What?”

“Yeah, well, you know.  That’s what they said after the 9/11 attacks, but then years later all these people start developing emphysema or some shit.  So, it turns out that people did get hurt after all.  It just took time to realize this.”

The host stared at him for a good minute.  “Moving on.  Now, your campaign was recently hit by some controversy in the form of a twitter war, is that correct?”

“See, I told you.  Gotcha journalism,” Jacob said, standing up and ripping his microphone off.  “I come on your show, and you bust out the ambush about all the prostitutes I’ve slept with.  You people make me sick.”

“Uh, Mr. Stanton,” the host, Billy Bilsonhost or whatever, said, “your campaign manager specifically asked us to bring that up.  The whole reason you’re on this show is to give you an opportunity to address this issue.  Remember?”

“Oh, right,” Jacob said, sitting back down.  “What were we talking about?”

“Your twitter fight with an alleged prostitute.”

“Not alleged.  She is a prostitute.  Anyway, she was all on twitter, talking about our relationship and claiming that I hadn’t paid her the last time.”

“And of course, since there was no relationship, this offended you,” the host said, completing Jacob’s thoughts.

“No, that’s dead wrong, actually.  Of course we had a relationship.  Who hasn’t used at least one prostitute at some point in their life?”

“A lot of people, I would imagine.”

“And it’s possible I didn’t pay her.  I will admit to that.  I was so high on so many drugs that night, I don’t think I knew which way was up.  But I always make good, eventually.  There are like three girls, all through the same agency, that I like.  I’m obviously not going to torpedo my relationship with them.  I mean, what am I going to do?  Have sex with my wife?”

“Uh, agency?”

“Right, well, these are some high end girls.  It’s not like I was banging some Lady Gaga lookalike on the street corner.  They have agencies, so they were going to get paid eventually.  But then she starts running her mouth about having a sex tape with me.”

“And this upset you?”

“Well, the fact that she had the tape, no.  I knew that.  After all, I’m the one who sent it to her.”


“Sure.  I sent one out to everyone last year.  I was wearing a Santa hat, so I sent those instead of Christmas cards.  I got one, Rock got one, my wife got one.  Shit, I think I even sent one to great aunt Bernice, and I don’t even have a great aunt.  I just sent it to some random old lady in the nursing home.”

“Okay,” said the host, taking a deep breath, “so what was the problem then?”

“First off, she called the sex tape ‘Bill Cosby-esque’.  It was nothing like a Bill Cosby sex tape.  She was conscious the whole time.  Secondly, she was releasing an abbreviated version.  It was like five minutes long.  That’s slander.  I can’t have people thinking I’m some sort of minute man out there.”

“I understand,” said the host, though he didn’t.  He just thought it would make things go smoother to say that.  Scumbag media.  “After all this, why should people still vote for you?”

“Come on, nutsack.  Voters know they can’t trust Hillary.”

“Why not?”

“Bitch is left-handed.  How can you trust someone who’s left-handed?  You know who else was left handed?  Hitler.”

“I don’t think there’s any evidence to support either of those assertions, and even so, it would be irrelevant.”

“That’s exactly what I would expect from the leftist media’s propaganda machine.”

“Either way, there’s still Donald Trump.”

“Jason, Jason, Jason,” Jacob said condescendingly, shaking his head.  “You know he’s hiding something.  Now I’ve released my sex tape.  Everyone knows the size of my cock.  He won’t release his.  What’s that tell you?”

“He doesn’t have a sex tape?”

“Or it isn’t as big as he says.  Either way, he can’t be trusted until he releases his tapes.  I’ve released mine.”

“A prostitute did, but anyway, that’s all the time we have.  A special thanks to our special guest, Mr. Jacob Stanton.”

The Twitter War

October 5, 2016

“Jacob, what the hell is this?” Lucy said, walking into the campaign office and sliding a laptop across the desk to her husband.

“It would appear to be a computer,” Jacob said, obliviously.

“No, I know that.  Look at what’s on it.”

Jacob sighed, picked up the laptop, and walked it over to his desk.  “Be careful.  I don’t want you dropping it,” Lucy said as Jacob carried the laptop with one hand.

Jacob scoffed.  “Lucy, relax.  I’m not going to drop it.  I’m always careful.”

“Really?” Lucy asked.  “Because you dropped our oldest son twice when he was a baby.”

“That’s different.  This has all my documents and stuff saved on it.  I won’t drop this.  This is important.”

“And our child isn’t?”

“We can always make another child.  Do you have any idea how long it would take me to replace everything I have saved on here?  At least two or three hours.  I can make a child in like ten seconds.”

“Yeah, ten seconds for you.”

“Right, ten seconds for me.  That’s who we were talking about,” Jacob said, opening the laptop and looking at the screen.  “It’s a twitter account.  So what?”

“It’s your twitter account.”

“Right.  Again, so what?”

“So what?” Lucy said, scrolling down and pointing out a few of the tweets to Jacob.  “So what are these last few tweets?”

“Some woman said something that was untrue, and I responded.  What’s the problem?  I thought that’s what a candidate was supposed to do.”

“Yeah, to legitimate issues from legitimate sources.  This woman was a prostitute.”

“Is a prostitute.”

“You can’t allow your campaign to be sidetracked by late night twitter wars with prostitutes.”

“What was I supposed to do?  Ignore her?”

“Yes.  Absolutely.  No one was paying attention to her to begin with.  If you had ignored her, everybody would have forgotten about it by now.  Instead, you go on a late night twitter rant, and now it’s all anyone is going to talk about for the next week.”

Jacob reached out his hand and touched Lucy’s shoulder.  “Lucy, someone leveled a criticism of my campaign, and I responded with a measured, thought-out response.”

“You said she was a ‘fat whore with the Grand Canyon between her legs, if the Grand Canyon had herpes and also were a vagina instead of a geological formation.’  Do you see what the problem is?”

“I think so,” Jacob said, thoughtfully.  “It should have been ‘was a vagina’, right?”

“No.  Maybe.  I don’t know,” Lucy said.  “The problem is that you shouldn’t be drawing out negative news stories like that.  Simply don’t engage.  It takes away from your message.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really have a message.”

“Well, you have damage control to do.  I’m going to try to schedule you on a late-night talk show.”

“No,” Jacob said, drawing the word out in a whiny voice the way a drunken five-year-old would.  “Not one of those cookie cutter late night shows that pushes a textbook liberal agenda under the guise of shitty comedy.”

“There aren’t any other kinds at the moment, so you’re kind of out of options,” Lucy said taking her phone out of her pocket.  “Besides, they’re all softball interviews anyway.  What are you afraid of?”

“They’re going to play ‘gotcha’ journalism with me.”

“’Gotcha’ journalism?” Lucy said, shaking her head.  “What’s that, exactly?”

“You know.  It’s where they ask you questions and expect you to answer them.”

“Right, I’m making the call,” Lucy said, dialing and holding the phone to her ear as she walked out the door.

The Slogan

September 28, 2016

“Alright, now that we’ve developed a platform, we need to come up with a slogan,” Lucy said, tapping her fingers on the table.

“What?” Jacob said, confused.  “I don’t remember coming up with any platform.  Or really, even having a coherent political thought, for that matter.”

“I did it last night.”

“Where was I while you were coming up with my opinions?”

“Sitting on a barstool, drinking.”

“See?  That’s leadership,” Jacob said, clapping his hands.  “I effectively made sure that everyone was doing what they were best at.  Put that down for your slogan.”

Lucy shook her head.  “What?  Stanton 2016: He can sit on a barstool and drink?”

“I’d vote for him,” Rock said.

“Right.  The competition may be weak this year, but it’s not that weak.  I was thinking something catchy, like an acronym or something.  Something short, concise, and easy to remember.  Some word or phrase that summarizes what our candidate is all about.”

Jacob and Rock thought for a moment.  Suddenly, Rock sat up, as if he’d had an idea.  “I’ve got it.  Beer.”


“Yeah, beer. It’s awesome.”

Lucy stared at Rock expectantly and shook her head.  “How is beer a good political slogan?”

“It’s an acronym.”

“Really?  What’s it mean?”

Rock paused.  “Wake the fuck up, see what’s going on, and vote Stanton.”

“Wow.  You are really bad at acronyms,” Lucy said.

“Well, I don’t really know what an acronym is.”

“Clearly.  Look, do you guys have any ideas, or am I going to have to do this myself?”

Jacob thought for a moment.  “Vote Stanton.  If Hillary isn’t good enough for Bill, she isn’t good enough for America.”

“What about Trump?”

“No fat dicks.  See, it’s clever, because it’s like no fat chicks, but with dudes.”

“I got it.”

“It will appeal to feminists.”


Jacob shrugged.  “I don’t know.  By reducing men to sex objects?  Feminism seems to be all about how turnaround is fair play.”

“Are you sure, Jacob?  Until a week ago, you didn’t even know what feminism was.  Are you sure it’s not just that you wanted to make a fat joke?”

“It’s not about that,” Jacob said defensively.  He sighed.  “It’s partially about that.  But only partially.”

“Really?  What’s the other part of it?”

“I’m not that creative and couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Right.  We’re not going with either of those things.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?  Because they are both clearly below the belt, and will only serve to alienate the people you are trying to attract.”

“No, no, no, it’s okay.  The attacks may be unfair and below the belt, but it’s alright because I don’t agree with their political views,” Jacob explained.  “If I’ve learned one thing from watching Jon Stewart and other late night comics, it’s that it’s okay to treat people unfairly and attack them personally if you disagree with them politically.”

“Right.  We aren’t going with that.  Come up with something else.”

“Lucy, I have to insist,” Jacob said.  “It’s my campaign, and I’m standing by my slogan.”

“You’re standing by ‘no fat dicks’?”

“It works on so many levels, and at the end of the day, it’s the principle of the thing.”

Lucy shook her head, rightfully confused.  “What principle?”

Jacob shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I thought that was just something people said when arbitrarily standing by something stupid.”

“How about Stanton: He’s more drunk than terrible,” Rock suggested.

“Stanton: He knows how to shut up,” Lucy chimed in.

“Stanton: He only gave crystal meth to children that one time,” Jacob added.

“What?  I’m not sure that’s something we should be emphasizing.  In fact, it seems like one of those skeletons in the closet we should probably address.”

“No, no, it’s cool.  There were extenuating circumstances.”

“What extenuating circumstances could there possibly be?”

“I was trying to fuck one of them, and I thought she’d be easier if she were insanely high.”

Lucy shook her head.  “We’re going to scrap that last one.  But I think we may be making progress.  We’ll take ten minutes then reconvene.”