“Beef between Disney and Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis shows no sign of abating.” — Axios
My fellow Americans, we have a rodent problem.
Mickey Mouse and his handlers at Disney have gone too far.
Florida is where woke goes to die. And I, Ron DeSantis, am running for president so I can kill joy nationally. As the next president of the United States, I promise to slaughter Mickey Mouse. And if killing one universally beloved cultural symbol isn’t enough, I’ll use my pudding-slick fingers to choke every character that brought even a glimmer of joy to your childhood, even if that means snuffing Snow White, asphyxiating Ariel, or throttling Tinker Bell.
Now, the liberal media will probably ask why a presidential candidate and sitting governor would promise to execute a cuddly mascot whose parent company basically prints money, operates the world’s biggest tourist magnet in my state, and contributes billions to the local economy. Won’t disemboweling a cute little mouse alienate the millions of people worldwide who delight at the sight of his adorable little whiskers? Shouldn’t a rational politician trying to seduce a broad array of voters want to avoid liquidating a potent?
These questions show how MSM elites are still clueless despite their years of ethnographic excursions to local diners to talk with the GOP base.
My supporters detest pleasure that doesn’t derive from other people’s pain. I’m trying to woo a demographic that sees mocking the disabled, credible allegations of sexual assault, casual racism, and a willingness to rip migrant children from their parents as presidential qualifications. As my record as governor shows, when I’m forced to choose between the health of the majority of my constituents and the mouth-breathing factions of my party’s increasingly unhinged base, the latter wins every time.
It’s true that I don’t have the other guy’s dark charisma or really any recognizably human qualities that a typical voter can relate to. But what I lack in charm, I more than make up for in cruelty.
I’m the only GOP candidate who doesn’t just fantasize about torture, I’ve authorized it. As a young go-getting lawyer fresh from Harvard Law, I was stationed at Guantanamo Bay. I reassured squeamish commanding officers worried about violating international law with affirmations like, “Hey, you actually can force-feed,” and laughingly said to prisoners, “You should eat” as they were strapped to their chairs and made to choke down formula.
I have used that same spirit of authoritarianism to govern the great state of Florida. Just look at my record. Children’s tears haven’t stopped me from denying Florida kids access to books, I’ve shipped destitute Venezuelan asylum seekers fleeing economic collapse to Cape Cod for clout, and I’ve turned the state into an anti-trans dystopia. My skill at targeting the most marginalized people in American society for temporary political gain is unmatched. Murdering mousy mascots is my lane.
Sure, turning Florida into a nightmare state might suppress tourism, and potential employees may rationally avoid a state where human rights are eroding faster than the coastline. But such hypothetical concerns must be measured against my diminutive sense of masculinity, which is threatened by even the slightest challenge. Go woke, get broken.
Bloodlust may seem like a thin political platform, but my career point proves efficient psychopathy has substantial appeal. Four years won’t be enough for my expansive agenda. That’s why during my second term, I vow to butcher Bambi.