Marco was tired. He was so, so tired. But it was getting better. After an hour-long shower – scrubbing and scrubbing until the scent of creamsicles, spray tan, and shit at last was gone – and then another hour just sitting in the bathtub and sobbing – he had started the process of pulling himself together again. It was easier than he would have thought. In his darkest hour, Mitt and Jeb had given him a gift: one brief moment of power over the man who had made his life a living hell.
He clung to that musky memory over the next few weeks, as he began navigating a post-campaign life. He even apologized to the flaccid, flatulent human traffic cone for the whole hands comment, and that was extremely satisfying. “Sorry about the hands thing,” he said. Left unspoken was the obvious corollary: I’m not sorry about the kidnapping and raping thing. The puny-peckered overstuffed pumpkin just bellowed something racist and scurried away.
Marco was putting his life back together, and he knew one thing: He couldn’t handle another campaign. He had to take a break. The thought of exposing himself to the public eye again was unbearable. He was only just overcoming the panic attacks. He had nightmares about serving in the Senate in the event of the fraudulent overbaked orange peel’s victory – to share a city with him –
He couldn’t do it. He was not going to run for reelection.
He ignored the calls from Jeb, and deleted the voicemails. He ignored the texts from Mitt, filled with cryptic emojis. He was not going to run for reelection, no matter how much his conservative compatriots feared losing ground in the senate.
And then, on Tuesday, June 21st, someone sent a text he couldn’t ignore. It was from an unknown number, but he knew it was Mitt; only the smiling, secretive Mormon could engineer something so diabolical.
The message read: If you don’t run, we’ll publish these :)
It was accompanied by one photo: Marco himself, grinning like a maniac, as he thrust into the clearly recognizable pair of deflated basketballs that were the presumptive GOP nominee’s buttocks.
As soon as he saw it, Marco knew he was done. His life was no longer his own; he was at the mercy of the billionaire Boy Scout.
And that’s why on Wednesday, June 22nd, Marco Rubio sent out an email announcing his reelection campaign