1. Having a beer with Rick Santorum.

    I would walk into the bar. He’d sit there with his head on the counter, one hand draped over the side dangling inches above the tap.

    He’d sense my presence. His head would turn in my direction. A single tear would run down his cheek. I’d suppose that he’d had a rough day. People berated his wife for dating an abortion doctor. They called him out on his homophobic agenda. They bullied his children and tarnished their innocence.

    I’d smile and beckon the bartender. “Two Heinekens,” I’d say.

    I’d take a seat next to him. He’d smile back at me, like a lost puppy who just found his only friend. The bartender would come over with our beers. “Here you go, sir. Here you are, Mr. Senator.”

    He’d raise his bottle as a toast to me. I’d toast back, crack open the top, and take a deep swig. We’d both sigh with the release of a long day’s work. I’d jab him in the shoulder to get his attention. He’d turn and say, “What’s up?” 

    Then I’d stare at his smug little face and say, in the flattest of tones: “Fuck you, Rick.”

    THE END.

    January 29, 2012
    1. socratescloset posted this