The Good Statesman

Walter Francis Tadworth had lived a successful career. Originally from an Old Stock Mayflower family from Massachusetts, his family moved to Virginia in his youth to escape the growing Irish influence in the state. After twenty-eight years as the CEO of Tadworth’s Toy Factory, he passed on the reins to his nephew, George Clifford Tadworth, as he embarked into the public sector. He had served for four years as the Republican Governor of Virginia, enacting a bipartisan gun control law whose exorbitant licensing and pricing meant guns were only in the hands of the police, military, and the extremely wealthy, and a statewide Stop and Frisk law inspired by Mike Bloomberg’s tenure as Mayor of New York City. The effects of this caused many black and Hispanic families to move out of Virginia, and Tadworth took great pride in being responsible for this demographic shift. Now, as his gubernatorial term came to an end, he was in the running to become President of the United States. Beating out many other opponents, he had become the Republican nominee.

His main issue was his Democratic opponent. Senator Roark Collins of Pennsylvania was about the opposite of Walter. Collins came from an extremely working class Irish Catholic family in a historical coal mining town. He had a history of being pro-union, something Walter wholly despised. Someone of Collins’ station in life should never be considered to lead a country. However, Collins had somehow beat out all the Wall Street funded candidates in the primary, something even the Bolshevik Bernie Sanders was incapable of doing.

Today was the first presidential debate between Tadworth and Collins. It was to be moderated by Chris Robertson, a typical MSM liberal hack “journalist.”

“Good evening, everyone,” Robertson began. “Tonight, live from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I bring you the first Presidential Debate. We have, on the Republican ticket, Governor Walter F. Tadworth of Virginia, and on the Democratic ticket, we have Senator Roark Collins of Pennsylvania! Now, Governor Tadworth, would you like to begin?”

“Thank you, Chris,” Walter began. “First of all, it’s Francis, not F., so make sure to correct yourself next time. Now, I’d like to begin by saying that the American people are tired of big government putting their hands in their pockets. They’re tired of being treated like welfare sponging couch potatoes, they want to be recognized as industrious bootstraps pullers. Of course, however, they also value safety. This is why they recognize the authority of the police and the military, and they want us to continue our push against the dangers of the world. The children’s hospitals filled with Islamist terrorists in Afghanistan, the Mexican and Central American families who work as cartel mules, and the radical socialists that want to pay people a living wage. This is why, under my presidency, we will create a coalition with all the wonderful successful businesses to make America a privatized state forever.”

“Oh, get real,” Senator Collins scoffed. “The American people want change. They don’t want the same establishment politics. You’ve been so far removed from working Americans your whole life, you think they worship the ground you walk on. Tell that to your unionized employees. Oh wait, you had them all killed. And it’s real ironic, you calling other people socialists, when the business you founded operates in communist China. Under my presidency, we’re gonna create a country that works for all Americans, not just elites like Tadworth.”

“China was a good business decision,” Walter stammered. “You’re the one with endorsements from socialist countries like Spain.”

“Oh, are you nervous? Maybe don’t run for President then. Maybe spend some time with your kids. Oh wait, you sent them all off to boarding school, so you didn’t have to actually raise them. You read too much Ayn Rand and decided that caring about people is a bad thing. So much for ‘Christian values’ from a Republican.”

“Senator Collins!” Robertson shouted. “Please be civil!”

“No, I won’t be civil!” Collins shouted. “It’s businessmen like him that worked my father to death, gave him black lung and all. You call me a socialist, but my heroes are Franklin Roosevelt and Jack Kennedy. Your heroes are the robber barons of the Gilded Age, and the Chinese businessmen who put suicide nets in their factories because they don’t care about workers. As president, I’ll fight greedy leeches like him and make sure that every American doesn’t have to work to death! Medicare For All!”

The audience roared out with applause. Senator Collins smiled and gestured to the crowd with gratitude. Walter dropped his head and sighed, feeling his eyes watering. He had never felt so small, so humiliated. He wanted Roark Collins dead, nameless, in a mass grave with other ungrateful workers who don’t know their place. He did not want his liberty to fuck over other people to be impeded on.

“There’s been a mistake!” a voice called out. It was none other than Stephen Costa, the Chairman of the Democratic National Committee.
“Roark Collins is not the true Democratic nominee! He’s a Russian plant!”

“Steve, what the hell are you talking about?” Senator Collins angrily barked.

“Your policies are too radical! They go against our donors – I mean, our Constitution! You’re a foreign asset! A terrorist!”

Walter watched with glee as FBI agents barged into the door with machine guns. He expected to see the socialist senator shot to death, much like the troglodyte union workers outside of his factory. However, his jaw dropped in awe as Senator Collins pulled out an AK-47 from behind his podium, and, in one fell swoop, shot all the agents.

“Fuck you fed pigs!” Collins shouted. “Appalachia till the day I fucking die! Working class gamers rise up!” From behind his podium, he pulled out a jug of moonshine and drank the entire thing in one gulp. After that, he charged out of the building, running outside into the bed of a pickup truck. They sped away, shooting bullets up into the air and cheering.

In the aftermath of the debate, Collins founded his own insurgent group, the Popular Worker’s Party. The Democratic Party scrambled and nominated Andrew Rossi, a corrupt Attorney General from New York. Putting aside his differences with the socialist Democrats, Walter reached out to Rossi and they created the Unity Party ticket. The Unity ticket barely won the election, but on the day of Tadworth’s inauguration, an armed insurrection took place, and Collins held Walter at gunpoint on the steps of the US Capitol. It was believed that his movement was funded by Russia, Cuba, Iran, North Korea, Syria, and the Vatican. Surprisingly enough, the Chinese government sharply criticized the movement, comparing them to movements in Tibet, Xinjiang, Hong Kong, and Chinese Taipei. Walter cried as he felt the barrel of the AK pressed against his head, and his pants were soaked in piss.

“Any last words?” Collins asked.

“Muh…m-m-my-m-muh money!” Walter blabbered as tears streamed down his face and snot bubbled from his nose.

“Sic semper tyrannis.” Collins pulled the trigger and blasted Walter’s head wide open. His brains splattered down the white marble steps of the Capitol, and the masses cheered.

******************************************************************************

Walter jolted up in bed, panting in a panic. He looked around, only to realize he was still in his bedroom, in his Virginia mansion. He checked down to see that the nightmare caused him to piss himself. His wife Nancy stirred in bed and sat up. She looked to see the dark stain in his pants.

“Aw honey, did you pee yourself again?” she asked.

“Yes, dear,” he sighed.

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” She took Walter to their bathroom, where she stripped his clothes off and gave him a sponge bath, tenderly washing his extremely small penis and his single testicle, black as coal. He had always felt insecure about this, but his wife always told him it was a kingly feature, like Charles II of Spain. After this, she handwashed his piss stained pants and hung them up to dry.

“Did you have another bad dream?” Nancy inquired.

“Yes,” Walter sobbed. “I had won the presidency, but Senator Collins overthrew me.”

“Oh, honey, you know that won’t happen. The Democrats would never let someone like Collins win. They love rich people just as much as Republicans do.”

“You’re right, honey.” A smile spread across Walter’s face. Despite all their communist posturing, the Democratic Party was indeed the party of presidents like Andrew Jackson, James Polk, and Andrew Johnson. After completing the rest of his daily routine, he smiled and went off to work. Was he still CEO of his Toy Factory? Was he Governor? Was he President? Who cares, all that matters is that he did it the AMERICAN WAY.

Fin