Welcome to Beto’s Beanbag Bungalow

[Note: The following is a parody communication from Beto O’Rourke.]

America! You may’ve heard — I’m running for president. That’s right, I’m throwing my sombrero in the ring so to speak. And man, is it going to be fun. The road trip of my dreams. Just me, my guitar, and the open road. And a small group of traveling fans (some refer to them as the “press corps”).

So, for those who don’t know me yet — are you living in a cave? JK. Of course you’ve heard of me. You’ve also probably heard, thanks to some of my conservative compadres, that “Beto” is not my given name. That is true. But my truth is that I self-identify as Beto. Because Beto is the only name that fully encapsulates who I am — a millionaire, cultural appropriating Gen X-er with an open mind and an even opener heart. Just a sincere dude with an unfulfilled rock star fantasy, massive father-pleasing-baggage, and a generous helping of political opportunism and white, male, Ivy League privilege. F**k, did I just over-share? I have a tendency to over-share. I also have a tendency to say f**k a lot. LOL.

You may’ve heard I’m married to the only daughter of a Texas real estate billionaire. That is also true. I can read between the lines, I hear the snarky whispers — did he marry for love or money? And I say, it’s the 21st century, why can’t we marry for both? I believe in an America where anyone can get married for the love of money.

Yes, like everyone, I’ve got a few skeletons in my closet. So, let’s air the dirty laundry. During my Senate campaign last year, I aired my dirty laundry all the time on Facebook Lives from Laundromats all across Texas. But seriously, about that DWI when I was 26 — I honestly prefer to think of it as “Driving With Intent… to have a good time.” People say I crashed into a truck and tried to flee the scene. But “hit and run” implies baseball, and I was never much of a baseball player. But I did row crew at Columbia. Not many guys with Hispanic first names can lay claim to that.

The truth is, I like beer. But not as much as that Kavanaugh guy, am I right? Let’s talk about the truck that was in my path that night. Think about what that guy was likely dealing with — minimum wage job, probably barely afforded the gas that had him on the interstate. Imagine if he had had a living wage. Imagine an America where he could’ve afforded a faster car to get out of the way of my youthful driving, or maybe one of those fancy ones with side-view mirror blind spot warnings. Shouldn’t we want side-view mirror warning lights for all? See, this is the kind of constructive conversation I want to have with you in Beto’s Beanbag Bungalow.

I know we’re going to become fast pals, America. Because I’m just one of you. We’re just a couple bros, or, make that one bro and one lady, or one bro and a bro who identifies as a lady. Or whatever floats your boat because I want you to know I am totally down with that. But for the purposes of my scenario here, we’re just a couple bros — you and me, America — kicked back on a couple of beanbags, sipping on craft beers from a local craft brewery, just hanging out in my bungalow. Think of Beto’s Beanbag Bungalow as a metaphorical safe space where we can just be bros and figure out life together. We can talk through the tough issues facing our great land, and then decide where we stand based on consensus, quality polling, and wise counsel from trusted friends at a handful of reputable national media outlets. And canvassing. Lots and lots of neighborhood canvassing. Because I don’t know what I’m talking about most of the time, and neither do you. We don’t have all the answers. But as long as we can agree to agree on the national legalization of pot, then the sky’s the limit on what we can figure out together.

Take immigration for example. I can identify with border fence jumpers, because I too had to hop a fence once for a prank. And exactly like illegal immigrants who get unfairly arrested by evil ICE agents, I was apprehended by campus police just because I jumped the fence at the University of Texas at El Paso. Once I told them I wasn’t actually a student there, that I’d actually been out of college for a few years, and once I told them my dad was a county judge, they were totally cool with it. Why can’t we just be cool like that with our border crossers? We just need to find out who they really are, and who their dad is, and it’ll be all good in the hood so to speak.

As for some of the other really hard issues of our time, critics say I avoid firm stances. But a lot of critics are just closet musicians who never got to rock out on a real stage. I’ve got plenty of stances…

Am I for or against a border wall? Sure.

Green New Deal or the status quo? Absolutely.

Socialism or capitalism? I’m actually for merging with Canada and Mexico to form the United States of Camerico.

Abortion? Yes, as long as it’s the woman’s choice.

Medicare for all? I prefer to call it Medicare for y’all, because I’m set for life. Just kidding. Of course I want free health care for all minorities.

Enough of the boring policy stuff. A little bit about my personal interests — like my terrific wife Amy, and our three kids that she raises: Ulysses, Molly and Henry. One of my campaign goals is to figure out replacement Hispanic names for each of them by the time I take office. Currently I’m leaning toward “Ariana”, “Umberto”, “Macarena”, and “Hernando” respectively. I’m open to suggestions.

I think you already know about my taste in punk music. I also like shredding parking lots on my skateboard. In fact, as president, my first Executive Order would be ripping out the White House bowling alley and replacing it with some sweet skate ramps. I want to do things that will bring America together and I think America would agree that a skate park inside the White House would be totally dope. You can expect to see a lot of changes like that in the Beto White House.

One of my top priorities as president will be an annex to the West Wing that will serve as a rehab center for squirrels. Let me explain. During my debate last fall with Ted Cruz, I mentioned the time I went with my daughter to visit a blind squirrel that was in rehab. That was an epic father/daughter/squirrel moment — so pure, raw, and real. There are so many squirrels on the White House grounds. And, to our nation’s shame, we have yet to earmark a single dime in federal spending to help preserve these helpless creatures. They’re not anywhere close to being endangered, but try telling that to the millennial squirrels who can see climate disaster on the horizon. Well, those who can see that is. That’s why I want to establish our nation’s first Center for Blind Squirrels, or CBS.

With their boundless energy and uncanny ability to save acorns for the future, squirrels remind me of you, America. Squirrels rely on the tree, and the tree is like the federal government. When it’s healthy and strong, and not hampered by climate change, it provides everything we need for an abundant life. The squirrels don’t have a care in the world, just scampering around the tree, enjoying all the entitlements that the tree incurs massive debt to provide. In fact, if I’m elected president, in my first hundred days I will direct Congress to change the national symbol of the U.S. from an eagle — which no one ever gets to see in the wild anyway — to the squirrel, which is in virtually every American’s backyard. That way, every citizen will have a constant reminder of who we are as Americans — nimble, skittish, and utterly dependent on the tree.

Remember, all squirrels are welcome at the Bungalow… pull up a beanbag! Just check your convictions at the door. Because convictions are kind of like handguns. They can be super dangerous. So, they’re best left with the safety on and locked in a gun safe. Or never purchased at all. You get the picture.

In conclusion, to borrow a line from that cinematic classic from our BFFs across the pond, Notting Hill: “I’m just a boy — Beto — standing in front of a girl/boy/non-binary-America, asking him/her/it to love him.”

America, as I embark on this ultimate historic campaign road trip, I can only make you one absolute promise from the bottom of my heart… I will Facebook Live the whole thing. From my morning bed-head and brushing my teeth, to my post-Whataburger bathroom trips, to my late-night-slow-burn air drum solos behind the steering wheel of my SUV, to my wife tucking me in at night with my favorite bedtime story — Dealing Death and Drugs: The Big Business of Dope in the U.S. and Mexico by Beto O’Rourke — it’s going to be all Beto, all the time. At least until I gracefully bow out of the race to become Joe Biden’s running mate and pretend like this wasn’t the plan all along.