Jim Gilmore’s Existence
Jim Gilmore, the one from our universe, looks out at the sea and sheds a tear. It falls off his face, past the pier, and into the bay. It ripples across the still waters. The night is black, and the moon is gone. Literally.
The Alternate Universe Jim Gilmore (AU Jim), who has entered our universe and is running for president, floats down onto the pier and places a hand on Our Universe’s Jim Gilmore (OU Jim). He does not feel remorse and is only performing the required comforting actions to attempt to soothe OU Jim’s emotions. It does not work because OU Jim knows what AU Jim is doing. He looks to AU Jim, angrily crying about how everything has failed, everything has gone to ruin, all because of you. AU Jim looks at the reader, wondering if that’s who he meant, but OU Jim clarifies, saying that none of this would have ever happened if he never arrived.
AU Jim agrees. And then he laughs.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 047] Jim Gilmore’s Existence” »
The Presidential Apprentice
Ted Cruz stood among a shroud of darkness. It enveloped him like nothing else ever had; though he tried to embrace the calming powers of the infinite black, he felt a sense of unease sweeping through him. He could no longer see the door through which he entered the room, so he realized he was trapped in here, alone with nothing but his wits and his constitutional conservatism to guide him.
His eyes were adjusting to the dark, letting him see various shapes in the distance, when he realized he was in an office room of some sort. So he hadn’t just trapped me in this place to let me suffer… That’s fortunate.
A few small red lights turned on, illuminating small portions of the room in a moody crimson. Finally, Ted Cruz was able to let himself take several steps forward towards what he realized was a large desk, though it was shaped like nothing else he had ever seen.
For all Ted knew, he was alone, but he felt a presence around him, and not just the darkness that had seemingly accepted him into its fold. I wonder if he’s really here… Ted closed his eyes and let himself focus, and then felt a hand on his shoulder.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 040] The Presidential Apprentice” »
Jim vs Jim
Jim Webb stands, panting, surrounded by a pile of cybernetic corpses of a hundred thousand Neo-Union soldiers.
One mangled robotic body of George McClellan attempts to grab Jim’s leg and pull him back into a fight, but Jim stomps on the robot’s arm, severing it from the rest of the body. He plugs a bolt of lead into McClellan’s cybernetic head to finish him off.
His phone starts ringing in his pocket. He knows he needs to answer it. As always, Senator Lindsey Graham is the voice on the other side of the phone. That monster is always at the end of these battles, Jim has learned.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 035] Jim vs Jim” »
The searing light of the sun beat down on the cracked ground of the borderlands. There was not a cloud in the sky nor a tree for miles around to offer momentary respite from the hateful glare. Only sand and salt spreading on into the horizon. Yet I soldiered on, because I am a builder. It was men like me who built the great wonders of this world. The Great Wall of China. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Trump Tower. The Colossus of Rhodes. All of them trophies thrust into the face of a jealous and spiteful god, unwilling to admit that his creations had surpassed him. I laid down another brick and spread a layer of mortar on top of it. I looked back, to millions of places where I had performed that same monotonous action. I could no longer see the end.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 030] The Builder” »
You lay in a woodland glade, surrounded by a towering thicket of mighty pines. The early morning dew clings to your bare skin, creating pinpricks of cold across your arms and legs. You breathe in the forest air, tinged with sap, grass, and dirt. You hear a rustling to your left and turn toward the sound. Out from the underbrush leaps some sort of wood nymph, clad in nothing but a solitary leaf. The creature dances a merry jig for you, his little legs kicking up rocks and pine needles and strewing them about. He jigs a little closer to you. You wave him away, but he attempts to jig forth again. You don’t protest this time. He jigs over you, bounding back and forth like a graceful antelope. He jigs until he can barely stand, but you watch on intentively. There is some sort of hypnotic rhythm to his little dance, like the swinging of a pendulum or a Viennese waltz. He plops down into the grass next to you, his tight little tush making a perfect indent. He stares at you with his shimmering baby blues.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 026] Linds and Me” »
John Kasich dove behind a large chunk of sandstone, narrowly avoiding the gaze of the spotlight that surveyed the periphery of the base. He knew that inside this facility, past the barbed wire fences and layers of concrete, the Iranians were building something unspeakable, and if the government wasn’t going to do anything about it then he was. The spotlight made a second pass and he was off, a black blur scurrying toward the length of chainlink right below the guard tower. Kasich rustled through his utility belt for the correct tool. Garrote? No. Knockout drops? No. EMP grenade? No. Swiss Army knife? Bingo. This was the most important tool in one’s survival belt and John knew that it would come in handy at some point. Koosook flipped Kasich out the wire cutter tool and got to work on the fence. He was in.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 022] Kasich and Tired of Coming Up with Stupid Puns” »
INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN – DAY
A man, average build, in a plaid jacket and balaclava sits on a foldout chair in middle of the room. Several locks of curly brown hair peek out from the headwear, accompanied by a bushy black mustache of questionable authenticity. He is BARTY RANDERSON. A boom box sits on the table next to him. He stares blankly at the camera for a moment before pressing the play button on the boom box. The Gremlins Theme plays.
Hiiiiiiiiii. My name is Barty Randerson, friendly protector of
conservative constitutional values in that little ol’ neighborhood
you’ve got there.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 020] Barty Randerson and the Libertarian’s Legacy” »
Who the Hell is Bobby Jindal?
I have been assigned to Task Force Theta, much to my chagrin.
Anyone in the force knew the stories about Task Force Theta. About the missions they have undertaken. About how few men and women that enter come out entirely intact.
Ever since they promoted me I knew it would be coming, but I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I wasn’t wrong. They assigned me to exactly what I expected would be coming. I’m supposed to find out the true identity of the mysterious man known only as Bobby Jindal.
I saw the look on Chief Roberts’ face as he handed me the documents. His eyes averted from mine and stayed focused on the manila folder in my hands. He said, “Agent Emily Fieri, you know what your mission is, and you probably know everything we’ve collected so far. I hope you have more luck than your predecessor.” I nodded and left his sight.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 012] Who the Hell is Bobby Jindal?” »
I’ve got to get the hell out of here. This corridor feels like it’s closing in on me, like every step I take someone is stretching it out further and the walls are getting closer and closer. I can’t breathe. It is probably right behind me, but I can’t look back. Have to keep running.
I think I see a door ahead. Finally. Please be the exit. It looks heavy and rough, like two uncarved slabs of oak were propped up in the doorway. I press against the right side of the double door, putting all of my weight forward. Please don’t be locked. I’ll die if it is locked.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 007] Bernie Sand Adventures” »
Jim Webb sits in a Waffle House diner in Richmond, trying to decide whether to order hashbrowns or to splurge and buy a steak. In the back of his mind, he wonders how he’s going to be able to burn off the excess calories from the meal, but right now he’s trying to enjoy himself.
Continue reading “[Election ‘016 004] A Webb of Sinister Design” »