A week after Willard Romney overclocked his untruth modules and scampered energetically around the sleeping President during the debate in Denver, the two vice-presidential candidates met for a debate in the pleasantly whisky-scented auditorium at Yokelburg State College in Kentucky. Vice President Joe Biden’s goal was to stop weeping Democrats from jumping off of ledges. “Atlas Shrugs” cosplayer Paul Ryan wanted to show everybody he was all growed up.
The week leading up to the VP debate had been a pretty good one for Romney and his youthful ward, Paul Ryan. Romney had spent several days practicing for the presidential debate, using the actor who played Lando Calrissian as a sparring partner. Ryan, an avid science-fiction convention goer, had tricked poor Lando by telling him he was going to be a featured performer at UtahCon. UtahCon, like much of what Ryan talks about, was a bogus scam. Instead, the beleaguered actor found himself trapped in Castle Romney, high in the remote Utah Alps, playing Barack Obama for hours at a time while Romney and his aides pelted him with one-liners and jabs at the Obama administration’s record. The abuse of a beloved sci-fi character actor paid off. Romney performed surprisingly well at the presidential debate.
On the day of the debate, devious GOP chairman Rinse Pubis had been secretly spiking Romney’s lemonade with Red Bull, No-Doz, and ginko biloba. Romney used a trick he had learned from Newt Gingrich during the several hundred GOP primary debates–just before the debate, he wolfed down a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts. Whacked out of his mind on sugar and caffeine, the former governor projected an energetic lie-filled enthusiasm. The President, on the other hand, had foolishly taken Bill Clinton’s advice and eaten a whole turkey for dinner just before the debate, so he was listless and sleepy.
Democrats everywhere freaked out, and Romney staffers stopped furtively emailing resumes to Fox News and campaigned with renewed vigor. Romney climbed in the polls, and the ensuing brouhaha upped the stakes for the VP debate. Biden had to stem the Democratic panic, while Ryan the Boy Wonder had to prove he was A Very Serious Person AND be careful not to pop the swelling Romney bubble. Biden began training by watching Rocky and the 1988 Bentsen-Quayle debate over and over, and by running up and down the Capitol steps while listening to a podcast of Kennedy debating Nixon. To build up his stamina, Ryan began intensive drills in Dagny Fu, a martial art of his own devising, loosely based on the space-judo practiced by Captain Kirk in the original Star Trek, and the homoerotic torture porn in the uncensored German first edition of Atlas Shrugged.
Since bullying the actor who played Lando had been such a success for Romney, Ryan dispatched a strike force of House Romney assassins to abduct an elderly actor to stand in for Biden in his practice sessions. This proved to be surprisingly difficult, since actors were on their guard after Lando’s mysterious disappearance. Ed Asner shot one of the assassins, and Christopher Lee killed two of them with his sword cane. The strike force finally settled on lovable pacifist Alan Alda. The actor was hauled up to Castle Romney on Saturday, where he was brought to the cavernous Hall of Justice. Carpenters were putting the finishing touches on a mock-up of the Yokelburg debate venue.
Paul Ryan was rolling around on the floor in his Captain Kirk togs, while the actor who played Lando glumly sat on the fake moderator’s desk, drinking tepid ersatz coffee. “Bill!” Alan Alda cried when the hood was pulled off of his face. “What the hell is going on?”
“They got me, too, Al,” the guy who played Lando said to Alan Alda. “We’re prisoners.”
“I was at WestCon, you know, the annual convention for West Wing cosplayers,” Alda said, “and I was backstage, getting ready to judge the Arnie Vinick costume contest–they had some terrific Arnie Vinicks this year, just terrific–and BAM! There’s a bag over my head, I’m hustled out and thrown in the trunk of a car. Where the hell are we? Who’s in charge here?”
The guy who played Lando gestured at Ryan, who was judo-chopping imaginary opponents.
“You! Weirdo in the pajamas! I demand to know what’s going on!” Alda yelled at Ryan.
“You’re gonna star in our mummer’s farce. HI!-YAH!” Ryan replied.
“What the hell does that mean?” Alda retorted.
Ryan dropped into a fighting crouch. “Mummers are medieval actors, who..”
“I know what mummers are, jackass. I’m Alan freaking Alda! I know all about acting! I want to know what you’re going to DO to us!”
“I wish you’d let us go” the actor who played Lando added. “Or at least let me wash my damn cape. I can’t believe I’m putting up with this. Samuel L. Jackson would have killed you all in your sleep by now.”
“No one is killing anyone,” Rinse Pubis, the greasy GOP chairman announced, as he entered the hall with Romney. “Mr. Calrissian has been kind enough to rehearse the part of our dusky-hued President, and we were hoping you would do us the honor of portraying Joe Biden.”
“I have a real name, you know,” the actor who played Lando said, forlornly.
“Of course you do,” Romney replied, tossing back a handful of No-Doz.
Alda was less than thrilled with the whole idea, but he finally agreed to participate after Romney agreed to finance Lando’s remake of The Bingo Long Traveling All Stars and Alda’s remake of The Mephisto Waltz. The two actors would be released after the Kentucky debate. Ryan and Alda practiced far into the night, pausing occasionally so Ryan could change costumes. Ryan wanted to debate Biden wearing a Starfleet uniform–“our campaign is about the future!” he argued–but an increasingly jittery Romney overrode him. Ryan agreed to wear his lucky Star Trek underwear instead.
The actual debate itself got off to a rocky start for the hapless Ryan. The moderator for the presidential debate had been affable pushover Jim Lehrer, who was no match for jacked-up Romney. Ryan had to deal with no-nonsense Martha Raddatz, who was not going to put up with any of Ryan’s pretty-boy monkeyshines. Ryan had tried Romney’s trick and gobbled a dozen donuts right before the match, but instead of making him feel energized, he felt faintly queasy. Worse, the first question was downer on the Libyan embassy, affording Ryan no chance to use any of his practiced zingers. Biden told Ryan he was full of malarkey, and pointed out that Ryan had voted to cut funds for embassy security. The wad of donut in Ryan’s gut roiled angrily. If Biden was going to point out every dumb thing Ryan had voted for, this was going to be a long and depressing night.
Later, Ryan got flustered and forgot the cardinal rule of vice-presidential debates: under no circumstances should you mention Jack Kennedy. Biden laughed at him. LAUGHED, as if Ryan wasn’t a Very Smart Person. When the topic shifted to domestic policy, Ryan tried to explain that the stimulus package made Baby Jesus AND Ayn Rand cry. Biden laughed again. “Boy, that’s rich, Martha,” Biden chuckled. “What Atlas McShruggy here won’t tell you is that he sent us a letter ASKING for stimulus money for his district. ASKING. Why? Because it would create jobs. He’s a joke! A hypocrite! A he-Palin!”
And it wasn’t just Biden. Damnable Martha Raddatz kept asking him about math. Medicare this and medicare that. It was a fiasco. Ryan could feel himself getting all Nixonian and sweaty. His lucky Star Trek underwear was cutting into him uncomfortably. This was supposed to be his ticket to the big time, a shiny rocketship to Front Runner Status for the next GOP nomination. But instead he just looked like a doofus.
In the rumpus room at Castle Romney, Alan Alda and the guy that played Lando watched the debate on tv and laughed and laughed. Alda said it was the funniest thing he’d seen since M*A*S*H. Lando didn’t actually think the last few seasons of M*A*S*H had been all that funny, but he was too polite to say so. In the media room of his luxurious orbiting pleasure barge, loathsome space-beast Newt Gingrich watched the debate, waving his fore appendages with mirth. He hadn’t laughed this hard since Tim Pawlenty had done that thing with the corn dog at the Iowa State Fair. In fact, all the 2012 GOP primary contenders watched and laughed, except for Rick Perry, who couldn’t figure his tv remote and watched an episode of Clifford instead. He loved that big red dog. In a railyard just outside Yokelburg, Richard “Shoeless Dick” Santorum, the Hobo Senator watched on a stolen iPad with some of his hobo advisors.
After the debate, Ryan ran outside to the loading dock behind the auditorium and threw up. A mighty stream of sugary, donut-laden vomit splashed on the steps. “Goddamn,” Shoeless Dick Santorum said, stepping out from behind the dumpster. “That was impressive.”
“Garg blur?” Ryan asked, wiping his disgusting face with his disgusting hands.
“Don’t feel bad,” Shoeless Dick told him. “If I had a nickel for every time I saw somebody puke after one of these things, I’d have a crapload of nickels. Ever see Newt Gingrich puke? It’s the most disgusting thing imaginable. Here.” He reached into his hobo bindle and pulled out a SANTORUM 2016 t-shirt and tossed it to Ryan. “Your shirt is gross. Put this on. After tonight you’re going to need friends. See you around. And don’t worry. You’ll feel better tomorrow,” he lied.
The next presidential debate is Oct. 16 at 9:00 PM.
