Dear Everybody Who Keeps Bitching About Me Skipping Almost All the Gubernatorial Debates:
Just shut the fuck up already.
Why the fuck would I go to some retarded debate? To listen to some corny, fast-talking coonass call me “Senator Pinocchio” for the millionth time and deliver for the billionth time his cheesy-ass line about how the two L’s in his name stand for “loves Louisiana”? I’d rather not risk vomiting on live TV, thank you very fucking much.
Or maybe I should go to see Mr. Bean’s long-lost twin remind people that I flip-flopped on Common Core and explain why he should be the next leader of Louisiana. No thanks.
Or perhaps I should show up and debate the one guy in the race who looks creepier than me. I’m not sure if his face got that way from all the skydiving he did in the Army, but he looks like he should be driving around in a windowless van offering free candy and puppies to the neighborhood kids.
No, I think I’ll just keep dropping my “gotta do important U.S. senator stuff” card and stay home and jerk off to some scat porn. I’d rather take my chances on my wife walking in on me blowing my load than risk blowing my chances in a goddam debate.
Now, I know what some of you morons are thinking: “But Senator Vitter, if you don’t participate in the debate, how will the people of Louisiana learn why they should vote for you?”
Oh, get a fucking clue, will you!?!
I’m not so desperate for free airtime that I’m willing to show up for a debate and debase myself on TV. Trust me, I debase myself plenty enough behind closed doors.
You want to know how voters will learn why they should vote for me instead of any of those sad sacks who actually show up for every debate? Simple. It’s called “TELL-A-VIZ-EE-YUN.” TV. The boob tube. Television ads, son! Lots and lots and lots of TV ads.
That’s how I’m going to win this thing! That and not exposing myself to pot shots for the mere sake of “debating” the “issues.”
Oh, you don’t think TV ads sans debate will get the job done? Have you seen my bank account lately? I got “fuck you money,” so fuck your debate.
Unlike some people, I’m not so desperate for free airtime that I’m willing to show up for a debate and debase myself on TV. Trust me, I debase myself plenty enough behind closed doors.
I’ve got too much money to risk getting blindsided with a question I didn’t pre-approve, so you can forget about me standing behind a lectern for an hour and doing tricks like a dog: Speak. Don’t speak. Play nice.
Tricks are for hookers, so go fuck yourself.
Besides, who the hell watches those dumbass debates anyway? The politically astute? Wow, too bad I’ll miss reaching out to those tens of Louisianians.
Meanwhile, my super PACs and my fatass campaign wallet are buying up every second of airtime we can get our hands on. We’re flooding the market with commercials that make me look like the second coming and those other asshats look like … well, me.
And you know who watches TV commercials? People who elect people like me.
So if you’re thinking about embarrassing yourself by saying something about insulting the voters’ intelligence by relying on negative ads while dodging “real discourse,” just remember that over 56% of those mutherfuckers voted to re-elect me in 2010 after I admitted to my “serious sin.” If they’re OK with me fucking whores, I’m pretty sure they’re OK with me passing on some idiotic debates.