GOP Presidential Nominee Selected by Gladiatorial Combat

Dear readers,

The tale I bring today is certainly a dark one, but it must be shared. I recently had the cursed opportunity to witness the end of this election cycle’s conflict over the next GOP presidential candidate.

It all started this last weekend. I received a jet-black envelope in the mail, sealed with a blood-red wax emblem bearing the initials “K.B.” As one of the premier American political thinkers, I had been invited to a special event to watch the conclusion of the GOP’s power struggle. Following the instructions within, I made my way to Kansas.

Unbeknownst to many, the Koch Brother’s mansion actually has an expansive subterranean component. It was here that I was ushered into the arena. Modeled after the Coliseum of old, I began to understand what I was brought forward to witness.

After a brief exhibition match in which a climate change activist was mauled by a polar bear, our benevolent overlords were ready for the main attraction.

The floor was briefly left in darkness before spotlights pierced the shadows to reveal the tributes before us: Carson seemingly half-asleep and blinking under the sudden light. Kasich dressed all in white, holding only an olive branch. Rubio gleaming with sweat and seemingly rehearsing talking points. Cruz wearing the uniform of the Zodiac Killer. The clothes were tighter on his frame, but undeniably tailored to him. He held the very knife that killed so many in the ‘60s and ‘70s with unshaking hands. Trump standing completely at ease. At his feet, bound to his master by a leash, rested Chris Christie.

Above the competitors, an emaciated Jeb Bush hung suspended in a cage and croaked “Begin!”

Trump immediately released Christie, who rushed at Cruz. He grossly overestimated himself, however, and was dispatched with a single swing of the experienced serial killer’s knife. Smelling blood, Carson seemed to actually wake up. He produced a scalpel from an unseen pocket and swiftly closed on Cruz. The two battled ferociously, knives flashing beneath the stadium lighting, but Carson’s professional training proved too much for his amateurish opponent. As Cruz slumped to the floor, Carson gleefully cackled, “Won’t someone else attack me?”

Seizing this unexpected momentum, Carson rushed at Rubio. He quickly struck out, but his face fell at the sound of metal scraping metal. Realizing he had nothing left to lose, Marco-Bot removed his flesh covering. Loudspeakers in the automaton’s chest blared “Look, let’s dispel once and for all with this fiction that Barack Obama doesn’t know what he’s doing” as he brutally overpowered Carson.

At this point, Trump at last stepped forward. Using the fighting techniques he learned during his time with World Wrestling Entertainment, Trump put up a valiant struggle against his metallic foe. But Rubio deployed his Establishment Shield and, filled with baseless confidence in his own victory, proved the stronger. With Trump at his feet, Marco-Bot again repeated his pre-programmed message to the crowd.

At this moment, Trump’s toupee launched itself from his head and enveloped the cyborg.

Trump then let loose a string of insults and lies so incendiary that the hairpiece and robot burst into flames.

Trump chuckled softly, and prepared to rise. But he was struck down from behind by a single blow from Kasich. The aged Ohioan uttered a solemn “You’re fired,” before ascending the Iron Throne in the center of the arena.

High above, Jeb bleated “Please clap,” and we knew the spectacle was over.


Sarcastically Yours,

Papa Jon

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