Despondent LIAM MCCABE “Just Not Feeling Up To A Publicity Stunt Today”
*Satire ahead!*
After a nauseating and ego-filled campaign that brought out the worst in residents of Bay Ridge, Dyker Heights, Bensonhurst, and Bath Beach, LIAM MCCABE refused to get out of bed this morning. Despite the cries from fellow Republicans below his window to come out and “do some stunts with us” and that it was “such a nice day”, MCCABE reportedly pulled the covers further over his head and sighed.
The victorious but still noticeably dead-eyed Quaglione, along with Tea Partier Bob Capano, raced to MCCABE’s house this afternoon when MCCABE failed to show up to school in the morning. Dropping their scooters on the curb and chucking small pebbles at LIAMs window to get his attention, the duo of misfit ghouls simply could not rouse their depressed friend. An ill-advised attempt to clamber up a trellis on the side of the house by Bob Capano resulted in a bruised tailbone and (and the forked tail it’s attached to).
“Come on LIAM! Come ouuuut.” drawled Capano. “We’ll all go over and egg old man Brannan’s house, we know how much you’d like that! Wake up booger-face, come out!” Capano held aloft a bag of eggs and toilet paper from he had brought from his supermarket, but nobody came to the window.
“I’m sorry.” called Quaglione to MCCABE in a forced manner, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his school uniform and kicking at a pile of gravel. “I didn’t mean any of it. It was just a game. We can still be friends.” After a brief silence Quaglione added, “Aw don’t be such a broflake. Get down here, we’ll all apologize, and then we can go invent some issues that will mask our attempts to play into peoples racism!” The only response from the MCCABE household was an audible groan coming through the closed curtains on a second floor window and a muffled “Go away. Leave me alone.”
It seems a permanent rift has grown between the three rascals.
After a few more minutes of fruitless shouts, neighbors began to shoo the ner-do-wells away. A window opened across the street and a Palestinian Reverend leaned his head out, shaking his fist at the two ghoulish Republicans. “Be quiet you kids! We’re continuing to embolden and engage a disenfranchised constituency over here! Stop all your belly-aching and get a job! Don’t make me come out there.”
“Oh crap, it’s the Losers Club…” whispered Quaglione, who quickly raced off with Capano on their scooters, fearful of the radical clerics skateboarding skills and his clubs continued unapologetic progressiveness. The two Republicans also took care to avoid taking the path home that brought them anywhere near the over 3,000-person strong party at old man Brannan’s house. In their haste, Quaglione left behind a labeled tin of cookies he had been using to sketchily “thank” poll observers the previous day.
After sundown, neighbors observed a nightmarish figure emerge from a nearby sewer holding a yellow balloon which dragged the cookies back to its presumed lair.
According to infernal sources that are currently in possession of MCCABE’s soul, MCCABE spent the remainder of the evening half-heartedly lying to himself in the mirror, letting his dog lick expired mayonnaise off his face, and repeatedly filling his bathtub in order to watch the water slowly drain out of it while muttering #winning.
