Washington, DC. The Republican Party is curled up in the fetal position on the couch and only getting up periodically to eat a half gallon of tin roof ice cream and cry into the mirror over the latest jilting by Governor Chris Christie.
She tried calling Governor Mitch Daniels, but he doesn't call back. Ever. Was it something she said? Did? Bastard.
"I'm fat and ugly," The Republican Party sobbed. "Tim Pawlenty only went on one date with me. And he didn't even kiss me."
The Republican Party trudges back to the refrigerator and takes out a new half gallon of cookie dough ice cream, slouches back to the living room and flops on the couch.
"Donald didn't even want me, and he'll fuck anything. I hate myself. Rudy doesn't want me. Huckabee would rather be on TV playing his bass. Maybe if I changed my hair..."
Suddenly, the phone rings.
"Hello? Yes, this is the Republican Party! Yes, I'd love to!!! Thank you! Eight o'clock! Yes! I'll be there! Thank you!"
The Republican Party runs to the bedroom and lays her best dress on the bed.
"I'm so excited! I just hope Mitt has a little better staying power this time. He's such a good dancer."
© 2011 Kona Lowell