For ten days no one saw or heard from Martin Guest. They were ten days Layla Jackson used to her advantage. Riding the momentum from her crushing victory in the second debate, she appeared everywhere—television, radio, billboards, Twitter—promoting her “Enviro-Socialist” agenda. With a focus on equal distribution of wealth, equal distribution of climate, and equal rights for all ninety-six known genders, Jackson promised to, “literally, like, solve everyone’s problems forever.”
The first step to Utopia? Abortion.
Jackson announced her first act if elected president would be make abortion, “available to all, affordable for all, and fun for all.”
Republican nominee, Todd Alderman, issued a strong response to rally the pro-lifers, declaring he would, “consider thinking about planning to do all within my power to disapprove of such action.”
It seemed a Jackson-Alderman showdown was on the cards for November. But then, three days out from the third and final Democratic debate, a spokesman for the Guest campaign released a statement saying Martin Guest and his wife had separated and would be filing for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences. Most assumed this was fallout from the sexual assault allegations, yet there were a few whispers speculating this was the work of Guest’s new campaign manager, Chaz Carrington.
The whispers were right.
Twenty-four hours before the debate, Martin Guest called a press conference. He entered the room to the frenzied chatter of camera shutters, while every journalist sat dumbstruck. Gone was the bland politician, replaced by a new-look progressive poster boy. Guest took his seat; he was shirtless and decorated neck to navel in fresh tattoos. A snug-fitting orange hijab framed his face, his features now striking with an over-zealous application of lipstick and eyeliner.
The press conference was brief but revelatory. Guest announced he had been living a lie: he was not, in fact, a heterosexual man, but a pansexual spiritual entity residing in a male body. As he would now be living a life faithful to his true self, Guest had legally changed his name to Inzamam Guevara. He would also answer to the nickname “Hotsauce”. Guevara (formerly Guest) then introduced his lover, D’Marcus. Until then, it seemed no one had noticed the large Asian man sitting next to Guevara. While the press nodded, bewildered but politely, to D’Marcus, Guevara exited the room. He understood the first rule of entertainment—and, therefore, of politics—always leave them wanting more.
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