i don't know, man

Fan Fiction

Eric Cantor is doing 90 on the Beltway in a yellow Lamborghini with a Newport 100 dangling out of the corner of his mouth, as he half-assedly sings along to the hook of “Black and Yellow”, which is on repeat. Ronald Reagan’s corpse is sitting shotgun, and he has the window down despite the bitter January cold. Cantor is almost late to preventing a roll call vote from actually happening in the House, and he’s nervous, but he can tell Reagan’s corpse’s thoughts are elsewhere.

Reagan’s corpse takes a bump off the dash and tells Cantor, out of nowhere, that he did ask Too $hort how to cure cancer and fix the economy back in 1986, and that very night Nancy Reagan actually did give Too $hort a blowjob and he could hardly stand the sight of her (or, for that matter, corn on the cob) because of it, but he needed her around for his second term. He recognized that he was losing his grasp on things. And he hated himself for needing her.

“He’s right though,” says Reagan’s corpse, “Life is…too short.” 

*fade out of daydream*

Eric Cantor is at a downstairs bar called Recessions on L Street in downtown DC with his iPod on, his face covered in Buffalo sauce and blue cheese, his tears cutting little rivulets through the orange, and the bartender is telling him that he cannot pay with his Every Republican Is Crucial PAC card, not for any ethical reasons though the bartender suspects there may be some, but because he hasn’t yet hit the $20 minimum.

[via: chundy]