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Okay, Okay, I accept.

My nomination for the next Republican Speaker of the House is me. It’s the only logical choice. And, quite frankly, the whole crew wants me bad. Jim Jordan has been sliding into my DMs for years now. Marjorie Taylor-Greene named a character after me in her erotic Teletubby fan fiction. Russ Fulcher won’t stop hounding me for makeup tips for his drag persona, Puss Filcher. And if I get one more goddamn invite to an antisemitic clambake at Gary Palmer’s Birmingham bungalow, I’m gonna lose it. But I’ll still do the job.

Yes, I’ll leave behind the cosmopolitan smugness of London for the D.C. douche-swamp. I’ll embrace the beige stone buildings, people, and mindsets of the D.C. politterati. And I will take up the mantle of the absurdly obstructionist Republican Party. But I have a few conditions.

  • First things first: wardrobe changes. The era of the unisex navy pantsuit is over, folks. I want to see color; I want to see movement; I want to see frills and feathers and lace and mismatched jungle animal print. Furthermore, we will be universally ascribing to Taint-Painting Tuesdays & Thong Thursdays. This is non-negotiable.
  • Secondly, can we spruce up these drab hearings and committees? C-SPAN should not be the aspiration. We need better production value! I’m talking in-house DJ, sideline confessions, and definitely new set design cuz that musty chamber vibe is a bit too Antebellum for my liking.
  • Third things third: you vote how I fucking tell you to vote. My GOP will still maintain the anti-establishment extremist vibe they’ve cultivated for so long. But we’re swinging left. Like full-blown Nordic socialist left. Damn right we’re going to picket this administration—until there are safe drug-injection sites on every corner, unions in every industry, and mandatory non-gendered year-long parental leave.

These are my terms, and I think they’re reasonable. My only hope that taking this job will stop the thirsty pleas of the right wing establishment for me to get involved. There are only so many pictures of Matt Gaetz’s micropenis a guy can stomach.

David Leipziger

David once performed a feminist rap version of "Gaston" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast on a soccer field in DC. Today he lives in London and searches for a wilting rose. (Not the flower but the eligible British viscount, Sir Wilting Rose).

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