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Brendan LoperThe New Yorker |
“It’s post-vacation burnout. We’ll have them back to normal, everyday work burnout in no time.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue . . .
Game over.
“And there’s extra ‘frunk’ space for all the baggage that comes with buying a car from Elon Musk.”
After the storm.
The life cycle of a campaign.
“Remember, before devices, when we used to sit and be forced to watch political ads on television together?”
“That’s just the polling data, dear—try not to gaze into it.”
Elon tries to give the Trump campaign a boost.
Hard to watch, but also hard not to.
It’s all about issues.
And he’s down for the count!
“What kinds of things can we expect establishment Republicans to strongly object to before completely embracing in a second Trump Administration?”
“Winter? But you just wished for it to be summer!”
An ancient mystery solved at last.
“Democratic hit job.”
“We’re looking for a rat, Jimmy, not a hot rodent man.”
“No, wait—leave that one up. That’s my campaign poster.”
“Add ‘the right to a speedy trial.’ I hate waiting for a verdict.”
Pick a door, any door.
Fulfilling a campaign promise.
Before closing arguments, the insomnia kicks in.
“You know the rules—whoever hauls in the most cash gets to be the leader of the free world.”
“Oh, so now when it’s time to order lunch you’re impartial.”
A surprise witness?
“Kinda makes me feel small and insignificant, like I was the subject of a Kendrick Lamar diss track.”
“As a juror, do you think you could be impartial to my client? And if so—how?”
“They’re on top of my head again, aren’t they?”
“I want you to set up a super PAC for whoever this ‘None of These Candidates’ is. They just might be the future of the Party.”