"Why am I doing this? I hate this. They told me it would be easy. They told me it would be a slam dunk. We nominate you. You win the general. We're back in business! All that gerrymandering. All those rigged voting machines. Jeb, it's in the bag! It's in the bag. That's what they said.
Now, here I am. Behind three clowns. No. Four clowns. Jesus Christ. Who am I ahead of? Anybody?
And I have to ask my goddamn big brother, who is, let's face it, an idiot, to help me. Because why? Because people like him? Like him? Do any of you morons remember the glorious W years? Any of you? I say this with all the brotherly love I can muster. My big bro is an epic fuck-up. Sometimes I really regret stealing Florida for him in 2000. Because he fucking poisoned the well for me. He and Cheney.
But now, I'm married to him. I have to pretend the Iraq War was a great idea. I have to pretend that somebody else was President on 9-11. Is it any wonder I don't seem too enthused? Is it any wonder I don't have that 'fire in the belly'? Remember 'Mission Accomplished'? Try dragging that around with you. Yup, that's my brother's gift to me.
And my Mom. 'We've had enough Bushes.' Thanks Ma. Thanks loads. That was a great way to kick off my campaign. Good to know where I rate in this family.
Four clowns. Trump, Cruz, that ungrateful little prick Rubio, and the black guy. Sleepytime. What's his name? Carson? Supposed to be a doctor or something. Fuck.
So here I am down in Dixie, begging a bunch of inbred mouth breathers who are still whining about the Civil War to please, please, vote for me, y'all.
OK. We'll let it play out. There's still a few million bucks to blow through, after all. And if the good voters of the Republican Party decide they want that gasbag Trump, that oily serpent Cruz, or those other guys more than me, then fine. Just fine.
Why am I doing this? I hate this."
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