Morning-After Campaign Texts

Hi, it’s Gwen Walz. Tim has locked himself in the bathroom and has his headphones on. I really have to pee, and the toilet in the downstairs half bath is clogged. Will you pitch in twenty dollars for a locksmith?

Emily, this is urgent. I’m going to buy more guns—even five dollars will help. The House is still up for grabs and Americans are deranged enough that this might just clinch it. —Kamala

Hi, Emily, this is Justin Trudeau. As you may not be aware, Canada is a sovereign country with border policies of its own, and citizens of the U.S. are not permitted to just move here like we’re a big, weird northern state. That said, be on the lookout for a Signal message from me, because for five hundred USD I can work a little magic—you know what I mean?

Hi, Miriam, it’s Tim Walz. I’ve been playing catch with my dog for the past seventy-two hours. I’m texting this with one hand and throwing with the other. Send money, or don’t—I’ll probably keep doing this regardless.

Hey, it’s Doug Emhoff. If you send me ten thousand dollars RIGHT NOW, you can come to Thanksgiving with my family instead of yours this year.

Hi, Emily, it’s Kamala Harris. If you send me five hundred dollars I will go to Thanksgiving dinner at your place, and slap a family member of your choosing upside the head for helping to elect a fascist.

MIRIAM, IT’S KAMALA TEXTING TO SAY IT’S NOT TOO LATE! JK, it is, but there’s a Seven Dollar Happy Hour wine special going on tonight and I could really use your support.

Hiii, it’s Tucker Carlson, are you gonna spank me now, Daddy??? Oops, wrong text. DELETE DELETE DELETE.

Hi, Miriam, it’s Tim Walz. Should I have done that Brian Jordan Alvarez TikTok dance? Was that what you wanted? My body can’t really move like that, but for ten dollars I’m willing to give it a shot.

Hi, Emily, it’s Colin Allred. Don’t bother sending anything. This motherfucker cannot be stopped. Ted Fucking Cruz.

Привет! Это Владимир Путин. Mы с нетерпением ждем возможности приветствовать вас в Российской Федерации!

Hi, this is Jeb(!) Bush. Remember me? I don’t look so scary now, do I? If you can donate fifty dollars today, I’ll build a time machine and make them clap.

Miriam, it’s Kamala. Feel free to send me fifty dollars, because sometimes the illusion of control is a soothing balm for the agony of existential despair. Also, I’m thinking of buying this really cute onesie.

Hey, it’s Barack. Fuck all ya’ll.

Hi, it’s Mayor Pete. We’ve got four long years to get through—will you send twenty-five dollars to insure that I can run as the return-to-sanity candidate, assuming that they haven’t outlawed the existence of gay people by then?

Hi, it’s Gwen Walz. If you didn’t like my hotdish recipe you could have just fucking said so. Why don’t you take your twenty dollars and just shove it right up your ass?

Hey, it’s Kamala. Should we do a tiny insurrection? Quick poll: Y/N? No worries if not!

Hi, it’s Kamala. Can you pitch in forty-seven dollars? No reason. Yeah, I know—weird number. Was that the problem? Was that why I lost to a racist, misogynist, rapist, faux-populist, conspiracy theorist, morally repugnant skin sack wrapped around a chasm of endless self-regard? Is that why people went butt first for his Two Minutes Hate rallies and his dark revenge fantasies? Did I run too far to the left? Too far to the right? Could I have run as a literal angel from Heaven and it wouldn’t have made a difference, because at the end of the day it turns out that people like a bullying, swaggering, hateful monster if he can make them think they’ll be able to afford a gold toilet someday? Should I have leafletted with pamphlets explaining exactly what the fuck a tariff is? Should I have eaten an immigrant baby live on national television? Should I have asked for forty-eight dollars??? ♦