Baier, Kelly, and Wallace: Thank you all for coming to tonight’s debate, the first of the Presidential primary debates, held in the beautiful Quicken Loans arena in Ohio.
[Baier flips a switch under his desk, causing an electric billboard to light up with the words “applause.” The carefully selected Fox News audience does as they’re told. The billboard is hidden from the television cameras.]
Baier, Kelly, and Wallace: We’ve ranked the candidates according to early polling results, so, here in the middle, is Donald Trump!
[Baier flips the switch so the billboard reads “awkward silence” and the crowd reacts accordingly. The rest of the candidates approach the stage, accompanied by raucous cheering from the crowd.]
Baier, Kelly, and Wallace: We’d like to begin tonight by setting out the rules…
[They’re interrupted by sounds of gun fire. The audience begins to scream, but only after Baier instinctively hits the “scream” button for the billboard. The candidates on stage are confused and defensive. Men in camouflage masks, carrying automatic weapons, bar the doors and take control of the TV cameras. Then, from stage left, a striking figure, tall, bearded, dark hair, light piercing eyes, and holding an intimidating 12 gauge shotgun, steps in front of the crowd.]
Shotgun: Actually Baier, Kelly, and Wallace (BKW), I thought I’d lay out the rules this evening. You all may know me as the infamous domestic terrorist who’s been killing abortion doctors, lynching black criminals, and looking good doing it.
[…he grins at the crowd…]
Shotgun: You’re all businessmen, so I hope you all know when a man like me means business. I’m going to be asking the questions tonight and I expect you all to behave. I’m sick of this bread and circus show and want real answers for a change! Do you all understand?
[BKW, the candidates, and the crowd, cringe with horror. When Shotgun glances at BKW, Wallace feints and falls into Kelly, who screeches. Shotgun waves his firearm in the candidate’s direction – they nod quickly and express murmurs of inaudible agreement.]
Shotgun: Great! So first thing’s first. You’re all supposedly against abortion and speak strongly against Planned Parenthood’s selling of infant body parts. Well and good, but some of you are only a few generations removed from people who used to *eat* infant body parts, so…if your ancestors used to eat babies, then leave the stage right now.
[Ben Carson immediately gets defensive.]
Carson: But…But… I’m going to ring in an age of racial harmony! A raceless utopia, where things like “skin color” no longer matter! I’m going to…
[Shotgun interrupts, pointing his shotgun at Carson…]
Shotgun: Get off the stage, carpetbagger! You want to be president? Run in Zimbabwe or Tunisia, where you belong. You Republicans and your fetish for token blacks. I ought to shoot all of you right now for even allowing it.
[The crowd recoils in fear. During the commotion, Rubio slowly inches to stage left.]
Shotgun: You too, Rubio. I see you! Get out of here!
[When noticed, he breaks into a run. Shotgun’s men open one of the doors and let him out. Meanwhile, Ted Cruz starts sweating, visibly nervous.]
Shotgun: What about you, Cruz? Did your ancestors eat babies?
Ted Cruz: No! No sir! I’m as white as they come!
Shotgun: Really? Weren’t you bragging that your father was from…from… [Shotgun appears to think]…umm… Cuba, right?
Ted Cruz: NO!!!! No way! I’m as white as they come, really. Just look at me! I’m a red-blooded American!
Shotgun: Yes, but “Cruz”? What kind of last name is that? Sounds like you’re related to Montezuma. You got some Aztec in you, Cruz?
Ted Cruz: No, No! You’ve got it all wrong. I’m Ted Cruise, like Tom Cruise, you know? He’s a good white actor! That’s right! I’m like Tom Cruise!
[Just then, before Shotgun can decide how to deal with Cruz, Donald Trump interrupts with characteristic impetuousness.]
Donald Trump: Hell, I *still* eat babies! Once a week for breakfast!
[The crowd gasps and before anyone can process what was just said, Shotgun slams the butt of his firearm into Trumps jaw. He hits the floor amidst an explosion of blonde fluff, his hair flying off in all directions. Shotgun’s men carry him away and dump him out back in the garbage. This display of violence is too much for the out-of-shape Chris Christie, and he collapses with an apparent panic attack.]
Shotgun: Can someone help that fat bastard?
Rand Paul: Well, excuse me sir, but I have a few medicinal marijuana cigarettes with me. My father was a doctor and said they’re good for calming people down. It might help Christie.
Shotgun: Alright. Well done senator.
[Rand Paul offers Christie a joint, but Christie, still in a mild panic, refuses it.]
Christie: Get that foul thing away from me! I’m dedicated to my big-government constituents who want to keep marijuana illegal and perpetuate the massive “war on drugs”. And I’m also dedicated to my baby-boomer constituents who’ve been carefully trained to accept government regulation of herbs and plants. We can’t have them thinking they’re in charge of their own bodies! So, get it away!
[Rand Paul backs away, confused.]
Shotgun: No. Wait, Rand. Put the cigarette in Christie’s pocket, then my men will dump him out back with Trump. He can either smoke it and calm himself, maybe prevent a heart attack even, or he can stick to his tyranny and die.
[Christie wails in fear and anger as Shotgun’s men lift him up.]
Christie: I need sweets for my blood sugar!
Shotgun: Well, you want to rob Americans of their social security benefits, why not rob the dumpster of sweets, instead?
Christie: You wont get away with this! I know how to deal with terrorists! I’ve devoted my life to dealing with people like you! You’ll pay!!
Shotgun: You hate terrorism so much? Then stop supporting it by keeping drugs like marijuana illegal! Terrorist groups are funded, in large part, by the sale of illegal drugs. Countless minority communities are empowered by the illegal drug culture and produce violent offenders! Get him out of here, men.
Christie: I’ll get you! I’ll rip the Bill of Rights in half if I have to!
Shotgun: Well, governor, Americans used to know how to deal with tyrants. The majority may not remember, but rest assured, I do.
[Something in Shotgun’s last words silenced Christie, who went limp and allowed himself to be taken out and thrown into the garbage.]
I apologize, but I don’t have the heart to finish this.
I was going to eliminate the candidates, one by one, until only Rand was left, leading my readers to suspect I supported him, but then he was going to get it because of his support for Israel and his back-peddling on the Civil Rights act.
Bush was going to grab up a few dozen guacamole bowls and flee the building with his Mestizo wife in tow. Kasich was going to brag about his father being a mailman while scampering off into the “shadows” to live with the “shadow people”. Ted Cruz was going to repeatedly try to steal Rand’s thunder until I punt him from the stage. Scott Walker was going to get left there alone, forgotten by everyone.
…or something like that.
I hate American politics and view this as a dog and pony show. The candidates are carbon copies of each other in all the ways that matter; they differ in the trappings – flare to lure in a gullible public. None of them will save us. None of them.
Our salvation (I’m talking about our Earthly political and social salvation, not our spiritual salvation) will come from elsewhere…from out of the pages of a Walter Scott novel.