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Wow! Drake lyrics! Hashtags! Getting that youth vote, am I right?

This is a voicemail that Carly Fiorina’s conscience left on my cell phone the other night.

“Hey there, it’s me, Carly Fiorina’s conscience. I’m laying in bed tonight, crippled with anxiety over the fact that not only would my childhood self absolutely hate the hollow, pandering, and egotistical power-hungry maniac that I’ve become, but also, because it’s slowly starting to set in that no one in their right minds would ever make me the most powerful woman in the free world, let alone place a set of nuclear launch codes in my cold, lifeless hands. When I was a child, I had no concept of conservative or liberal. I was free. Free from the mind-prison of American politics that I feel the need to launch myself into because some version of my former self is feeling the need to prove my own worth on a national stage despite the fact the only people who give two shits are my campaign team and the roughly three women who might possibly drop my name in the ballot box out of spite for Hilary Clinton. It’s absolutely bonkers how I was afforded the opportunity to travel the world as a child, completing my high school career throughout various European and African countries, yet still failed to gain any humanistic perspective, ultimately aligning myself with an archaic political party that serves only itself. It’s scary. I’m just a paper tiger propped up by the conservative media to play foil to any female democrat contender. And still, that little hit to my dopamine receptors that the “World’s Most Powerful Woman In Business” title I was given in 1998 is not enough. I need to continue to add paragraphs to my Wikipedia page detailing how I’ve fucked over countless honest, hardworking people in my quest to satiate an unquenchable thirst for power and fame. Sometimes, I get a glimpse of reality. I will awake in the dead of night, screaming internally, wrought with the horrible truth that none of my accomplishments mean anything in the grand scheme of the world; I, along with any interview I’ve ever partaken in or any speech I’ve ever given, will be washed away by the unforgiving sands of time. Perhaps I should drop out of the race and pursue an actual happiness; the one I sought after when I was a child. I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt anything close to unbridled joy. My brain is just too bogged down by the minutiae of my day-to-day on this campaign. It’s as if buried underneath the poll numbers and stupid tweets is a desire to break free of these chains, realize that the only reason I am where I am today is because I married an executive at the largest and most corrupt telecommunications company the world has ever known, and that maybe, just maybe, my child had debilitating addiction issues because her father and myself were entirely too busy suckling at the giant teat of human greed to afford her any sort of existential attention, something every child growing up under the half-hazed thumb of corporate parents needs in order to reconcile with the fact that they are just another asset, a product on their family’s itemized list of ‘things that make us look like good people despite being moneygrubbing shitbags’. It’s a real shame that my home, worth millions of dollars, nestled along the Potomac, is unable to shield me from the worldly truths that are slowly starting to seep into my brains as night after night, I slowly but surely start to understand that no one wants me to see me become the President, that all of my beliefs are bought and sold by the donors who fund my campaign, and that someday, I will look back on this life and be disappointed. I am dead inside. This guilt is crippling. I only want to end my journey through this hellish facade and exit the public spotlight, left to my own devices so that I may reflect on what led me to become this person that I hate. The person I never wanted to be. The person I’m asking you to elect to public office. If I find any shred of decency in my waning bones, I will hang this phone up, walk outside, take in a giant breath of crisp January air, and reevaluate my position in this universe. Then I will know peace.”

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