by Brooke Preston with illustrations by Sarah Kempa
Each and every Democratic male Senator, past or present, living or dead.
That big city mayor you don’t like very much.
That small town mayor you really like, now that you’ve heard of him.
That mayor who’s a horse from Arkansas has cantered into the field! And is also a candidate.
All those affable, affluent southern white men with names that aren’t actually adult human names, like Beto and Urban and Tug and Squeeto and Booger and Dig Dug.
93 percent of Fortune 500 CEOs (just the dudes).
That barista with Reba McEntire tattooed on his clavicle, the one who always calls you Pam.
Your stepdad Anthony.
Remember that guy who you went on like two dates with all those years ago when you lived in Chicago? And he was nice enough but he kept talking about his mother, and he ate his pie in that really off-putting way? And he took you to a Father John Misty Concert which seemed cool, but then just stood there motionless the whole time and later admitted he just picked the show at random from a newsletter? He’s now Lieutenant Governor of one of the Dakotas and is running.
Joel Osteen’s back-up drycleaner.
Your cousin Ricky whose homemade business card just says “e-sports” even though everyone knows he works at Best Buy.
The entire local band of cops from your town who cover old Beach Boys songs at school safety assemblies, but with law enforcement puns, who call their group “Good Citations.”
Your neighbor Dirty Keith who claims to run a car detailing business from his home but always smells like weed and doesn’t own a vacuum.
The Boston statue of a triumphant Bobby Orr.
Your Gandalf the White alarm clock (currently polling second!) who checks all the boxes for middle America. Old, white, male, and punctual.
This Doritos Locos taco, really stretching its foreign policy credentials.
The guy that runs the open mic at the bodega who keeps bragging that he let three women perform one week.
A signed 8 x 10 glossy of Tom Hanks dressed as Fred Rogers, holding a “Woody” figurine from Toy Story, all of which is woefully short on policy but so damn wistful that nobody minds much.
Jared Leto and the severed Jared Leto mannequin head he brought to the Met Gala, running on the same ticket.
All the Chrises. No, literally, not just the famous ones, every man named Christopher.
Those two Davids who just beefed the last season of Game of Thrones, but have a prettttty epic 8-season idea for America: the prequel.