"Let me ask you something. Is there something about the left, and I am going to put the media in this category, that is obsessed with sex? Why is it the only question you want to ask concerns homosexuals? ... Well, you know. ISIS is executing homosexuals. You want to talk about gay rights? This week was a very bad week for gay rights because the expansion of ISIS, the expansion of radical, theocratic, Islamic zealots that crucify Christians, that behead children and that murder homosexuals. That ought to be concerning you far more ..."
Ted Cruz was right. Like all liberals, I was obsessed with sex. And, like all liberals, I didn't care about foreign policy at all. AT ALL! But Ted Cruz changed my mind: why are gay people complaining about anything? As long as we aren't executing them like ISIS, then what is the problem? End of discussion. In one amazing moment of clarity, Ted Cruz boiled the conversation about social issues in this country down to one single idea: are you currently getting murdered by ISIS? No? Then everyone shut up.
The same thing applies to women. Are you being publicly executed? No? Then don't talk to me about insurance covering prenatal care. Hey, fetus, life begins at conception, but big government does not, so why don't you eat some amniotic fluid and be happy for what you have? Hearing Ted Cruz solve all of America's social issues with one easy explanation made me wetter than a bucket of water in a rainstorm. I'd brought Ted Cruz up to my hotel room with the promise of showing him my lower-back tattoo of the Second Amendment where all the vowels were replaced with yin yangs, but I think we both knew what had to happen next.
He sat by the window, staring out at his home state. He was pensive as shit. "I've never been with a liberal woman before." I was losing my patience. He started crying a little. Quietly. Almost sweetly. "Why are you so obsessed with sex? Why can't we just cuddle?" I shook my head. "I'm not going to fucking cuddle with you, Ted Cruz. Now take off your clothes, lie down on that bed, and let me eat off you like a plate." I was naked at this point and covered in barbecue sauce. MSNBC was blaring on the cheap hotel TV, and I ignored his tears and gnawed on another pork rib. Ted was shaking. "Can you at least wipe the barbecue sauce off your face? It's really gross." I shook my head no and told him he wasn't allowed to offer an opinion unless he was being murdered by ISIS. He nodded. Yes, it was a sound argument. Gently, he removed all his clothes and got on the bed. "Are you nervous, Ted?" He nodded. "Tell me about being born in Calgary. Just kidding, I don't give a shit." He lay there, naked, waiting to see what I was going to do. "Ted, you're so right about liberals. Sex is all we ever think about. Honestly, the only other things I think about besides sex are weed and the Oscars." Ted nodded, trying to avoid getting hit in the face with barbecue sauce. He was really freaking out at this point: "Liz, let's just do it if we're going to do it! I need to go pick out a plaid shirt and belt for tomorrow!"
But instead of touching him, I pressed a button, and the wall of the hotel room creaked open to reveal a stairway leading down into a dark and terrifying unknown. Sounds and smells flooded the room. I took his hand and led him down as the moans got louder and louder. "What is this place?" Ted asked, his voice barely a whisper. "This is the weird secret basement where sex-obsessed liberals go to have sex with one another like beasts." Ted clapped his hands. "I knew it! I knew that was happening. This whole time." I nodded. "You were right, Ted. You were the only one who saw through us." We both fully sanitized our bodies and zipped up into hazmat suits. It was dark, but the little pools of red light made it easier to see the disgusting, depraved, unthinkable acts happening all around us ...