Hey MAGA—Here’s What a Real Man Looks Like!

Are you sick of your stuck-up father always riding you to mow the lawn, take out the trash, and do your “damn” homework? Tired of having your Nintendo controller stripped out of your busy hands just because your overbearing pop wants you to hold a flashlight steady for two straight minutes over the seething innards of his car? Are you even at your wit’s end that every Saturday morning, your sleep-deprived papito kicks in your bedroom door before the cock crow to rustle you up for yard chores?

Well, trouble yourself no longer with that inner filial impulse. There’s a new dad in town, and in your house, who’s mad at the right outrages, not your sad, layabout tush. Introducing: Minnesota Governor and failed vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz! So make like a Radcliffe freshman and disown your own patriarch so that you can adopt a more solicitous daddy in touch with your needs. Because if those aren’t being met, your life is unfulfilled, empty, and meaningless!

But first, an additional word from our sponsor: You know and love our producer so much that you begrudgingly drag your keister to the polling booth every November, and occasionally in the flowering spring, to check the box next to their endorsed candidate. That’s right, the lovably morose, uppity moralistic, swivelingly daemonic DEMOCRATS™. The party you love to hate because, what are you going to do? Vote for red-throated Hitlerism? Or opt for third party, snatching less than 2% of the vote? We know you aren’t that lunkheaded.

Back to our main pitch. (Always be selling—especially to shush those dunning vendors!) Governor Walz, despite being bested by a felonious dotard whose deficient attention span saved his cranium from a bullet bisection, is back in the arena. He picked himself up from his negligible loss, as any brawny brawler must. Don’t be mistaken: The last election was just another round in the royal rumble for our country. The final bell hasn’t wrung. We’re in this fight, and we’ll go on swinging if we must—to a man, woman, or non-sex-identifying homo sapiens! (And those special hearts who don’t consider themselves part of the humankind genus.)

Governor Walz knows the score—call it his macho intuition. But not the creepy macho intuition that juices the perverse lusts of ugly sexpests. There’s not a hint of toxic masculinity within the governor’s safe, stocky body. Like your favorite sequined Stanley tumbler and bisphenol A, Walz is toxic masculinity-free!

And he’s not waiting another three-to-four years to bare-knuckle box whatever goose-stepping stooge the Republicans stand up. His fists are raring to piston punch, even if they fling effetely like an akathisic air-man. The mighty Minnesotan is galloping on his ethically raised steed right to where fascism festers freely: ruby-red states.

The governor is confidently tromping to locales Trump won—in an overland manner you can be sure is carbon-free, environmentally conscious, and respectful to Indigenous populations—to give Americans exactly what they want. Tough talk, pointed criticism, workshopped zingers, ad hominem slander, and the rare extemporaneous insult that will be walked back after careful consultation with professional sophists—this is the “Tim Walz Townhall Tour”! (Patent-pending. Any unauthorized use of “Tim Walz Townhall Tour” without the express permission of the Democratic National Committee is strictly prohibited and could result in a lawsuit where any liable damages are paid to stiffed Harris 2024 vendors.)

Every attendee to the Tim Walz Townhall Tour is guaranteed a fistful of blue righteousness, an urgent reminder that our democracy is under assault, and homespun, hardball wisdom from a man in touch with his feminine side. That’s what makes Walz so different from those alopecic MAGA monkeys, who hoot and bray before their orange orangutan god in stale, dilapidated stadiums.

The pugnacious governor is already tickling the hot aggression we respectful liberals suppress in our amygdala. He’s taunting tough-talking Republicans, declaring “I can kick most of their ass.” (Sic.—grammatically and musculaturely.) He’s gallantly defending our honorable bureaucrat class, who staff such beloved agencies as the DMV and IRS He’s decrying the devolution of political messaging, tearing Republicans a new one over their lazy tag coining. And he’s even sacrificially dancing on the Tesla stock grave despite his own pension fund sliding southward.

Unlike your father, who tells you to toughen up after every fall, Gov. Walz knows that losing last November just wasn’t fair. Whining about past failures, nursing grievances, putting on a pity party, is what “real” men do. And Tim Walz is here to kiss our owies while dropping the hammer on the racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic GOP. He’s locked, loaded, and unafraid to spray tongue bullets at the nasty Republicans as they try balancing the federal balance sheet. (Everyone knows fiscal responsibility is a dog-whistle for white supremacy.) Plus, he can even load a shotgun—kind of!

Is it any wonder the simping simpletons in the GOP are tearing their hair plugs out over Walz? They know the former pigskin coach can pick off young men from Trump’s poisonous allure. He can even “run a mean pick six” on the mookish MAGAites

So move over, angry dad. We’ve got no time for your nativist politics. The country cries out for rumpled, peeved, play-at-being-pissed secondary-football-coach dad!

Coming to a middle-school auditorium near you.