The Secret D-Bag Patrol

Ted Cruz stared uneasily out of the hotel room door as the cars screamed down the Sam Houston highway. He had chosen this location for the meeting because of its’ low profile guests and the easy access to the George Bush Intercontinental Airport. “The Hyatt Place Bush”, he said to himself. “Intercontinental Bush” he snorted. “Sounds like a Cambodian hooker.” He stepped back into the room and stared at his cell phone. He tweeted: ‘Defund Obama care now and I denounce my Canadian Identity’. He walked back into the bathroom and touched up his mascara. He smiled and winked at himself. “No one must ever know”.  He picked up a bottle of mouthwash and swallowed hard three times. He felt absolved and headed back to the door waiting.

Down in the parking lot below a Mexican cab driver was arguing with a woman about her cab fare. “Damn looney tunes” he caught himself, he had almost yelled down and told the noisy pair to shut up. At the far end of the parking lot a Hummer limo was pulling in. He walked back inside the door and wrung his hands together in a washing motion. He couldn’t stand the suspense and crept back to the door. Peeping out with a raccoon eye he saw a small figure get out of the limo surrounded by three burly body guards. He thought the passenger glanced up at him but he couldn’t be sure. Scratching his head he wondered again if it was really true. No sooner had he sat in the gaudy chair and turned on Fox news there was a knock at the door. He said “It’s unlocked” as if he was too important to get up.

The door swung open forcefully as a large man abruptly entered. Behind his frame, almost infantile in his presence was the teen phenom, the one the only, Justin Beiber. Ted sprang up as if to defend his chair, “No bodyguards” he said. The large man retreated. It was him and Justin. “Come here my Canadian boy”, Ted crooned with a syrupy sweetness that was gooey like maple syrup. “I don’t believe that it’s true!” whined Justin, “It cannot be!”.

“Now, now the DNA tests don’t lie, plus you have a smarmy way about you, you know it’s true”. “You are my illegitimate son!”

Ted flopped back in the chair. What he had said relieved him of his dark secret. While on the debate team years ago he had been unrestrained in his words. More than his tongue had been wagging! He blamed his incontinence on his hot Cuban roots.

“But I love Canada and health care and hip hop and tattoos!” Justin whined in protest.

“Face it son, Canada sucks, healthcare is socialism and gun control is downright Communist. Plus you can’t out debate me. Not yet you hip hop wanna be. Here’s the deal you help me and I help you!”

“I’ll never help you. Never. Rudy come and get meeee!” Justin pleaded as the door swung open. The large man scooped him up with leathery hands like a sheep herder plucking out a young ram to be neutered. “I don’t know why I came here.”

“Well don’t forget you will never escape the fact that secretly we are truly members of the secret d-bag patrol. You have your baggy, falling down pants and I have my crappy attitude and mascara. Plus we both love the Jesus”, Ted said loudly, “The Jesus.”

Justin turned and looked back. “You’re a Kanye West fan?”, he asked.

“No dammit not Kanye you jackass, the Jesus, we are a father and son in Christ so don’t ever forget that all our douche bagginess will be forgiven.”

The door shut quickly. It was Ted alone in the room again. He opened his suitcase and cradled his revolver. He rubbed it like there was a genie inside. He had really wanted Justin’s support and acceptance but at least he had the gun. He went back into the bathroom placing his precious gun by the sink. He daubed at his eyes. His mascara was waterproof thankfully. He picked up the mouthwash and took another swig. “Oh Canada” he hummed to himself.

“For every one of us who succeeds, it’s because there’s somebody there to show you the way out.” — Oprah Winfrey

“The cool thing about being famous is traveling. I have always wanted to travel across seas, like to Canada and stuff.” — Britney Spears

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

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