Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Mexico.
An abandoned shipping crate labeled “To Mexico” rattles around in a desperate struggle before the side panel gives, and a hogtied Ted Cruz rolls from the box. He takes a moment to collect himself, keeping his eyes closed tightly before mustering the courage to look around. A flurry of muffled expletives are trapped behind a bandana, and a ball of old socks as an untied Marco Rubio emerges from the container.
“Ted?” Marco questions, while removing his gag. “What the hell happened to you? Why are you tied up?”
“Lindsey put me in the wrong box while we were roleplaying,” he digs sarcastically. “What the fuck do you think happened, Marco? Donald kidnapped us!”
“Mr. President Trump would never do that,” Marco retorts as he helps Ted remove his restraints. “He loves us!”
“He hates everyone, you imbecile,” Ted says as he stands up, dusting himself off. “He doesn’t even like his children. He just pretends to because he thinks they like him.”
Ted looks down and notices the label on the crate.
“To Mexico,” Cruz reads. “That’s messed up. I’m not even Mexican. I’m from Canada.”
“I’m not exactly Mexican, either,” said Rubio.
“You’re a fucking bitch,” replied Ted. “That’s what you are.”
“Tell that to your ‘ugly’ wife,” Rubio parried.
“You little piece of shit,” Ted throws himself onto the Florida Senator, strangling his tiny neck, before looking up and noticing a payphone by the side on the road.
He bounces Rubio’s head off the ground one more time for good luck before bringing himself to his feet. “We need to call Donald and set this straight.”
“Let me do it,” Rubio chokes. “He likes me better than you.”
“Well, I doubt that since nobody likes you,” Ted responds. “But, why don’t you give it a shot anyway, sweetheart.”
Marco Rubio toddles over to the phones and sanitizes the surface with a Wet Wipe from his pocket.
“You’ve reached the office of President Donald J. Trump. Please state the reason for your call,” an automated voice states.
“IT’S MARCO RUBIO, I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED!” he screams, tears rolling down his face, drool and snot fall.
The phone rings, and a confused Donald Trump answers.
“Hello?” Trump asks. “Who is this?”
“Mr. President, it’s Marco Rubio, I…”
“Who?” Trump repeats.
“Marco Rubio, the Florida Senator,” said Rubio. “Sir, Ted Cruz and I are…”
“Kayleigh, who are these people?” Trump asks away from the speaker. “Why am I on a call?”
“It’s Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz, sir,” Kayleigh McEnany answers. “You had them deported.”
“DEPORTED?!” Rubio yells. “WE’VE BEEN DEPORTED?”
Marco falls to the ground in shock, and a now furious Ted Cruz grabs the payphone still clutched in Rubio’s hand.
“Listen, you fat orange prick, I am an American Citizen, and I shall be treated as such,” Cruz demands. “Just because we couldn’t pull off your stupid little coup doesn’t mean you can just exile us from the country.”
“It’s a real shame, Ted,” said Trump. “It’s a real shame that we didn’t win the election. Now, there’s nothing I can do about your situation. It’s out of my hands. You’ll have to ask your friend, Joe Biden.”
Trump hangs up the phone before the Texas Senator could respond.
“What are we going to do now,” Rubio asks, still lying on the floor. “We’re trapped in Mexico with nowhere to go. How will we get back to the U.S.”
“We’re going to get in like everyone who needs to get into America illegally,” said Ted. “We’re going to sneak across the border.”
“But we don’t even know where we are? said Rubio. “How are we going to get back to the border?”
“You see, Marco, it’s good to have friends all over,” Ted says while looking through his phone. “Hey, it’s Ted. I need a favor. Can you pick me and my retarded nephew up? The President was generous enough to send us on a trip to Mexico for the dead, but we’re about done and looking to head back to the states. Can you? Awesome, thank you, my friend.”
After several hours, a silver, beat-up Toyota 4-Runner creating a plume of dust comes barreling down the road toward the pair. A duo of grey-haired white men occupies the front seats.
“Heard you fellas need a ride,” Bill Clinton says from the passenger seat. “Luckily, Jeffery and I were in the country.”
“Bill, Jeff, nice to see you again,” Ted exchanges as he gets into the back seat of the SUV.
“Mr. Clinton, Mr. Epstein,” Marco stammers. “Uh, glad to see you’re not dead. Bill for old age and Jeff, well, you know what I mean.”
“Smooth,” Ted snaps.
“Don’t worry there, Little Marco,” Jeffery Epstein says from the drives seat. “We will have you back home in no time.”
Fifteen minutes later, the car comes to a halt.
“Well, here you go,” Epstein says. “This is your stop.”
“But where is the border?” Rubio asks.
“You’re looking at it,” Jeff says. “Step across that line, and you are in the good ole US of A. Now get out.”
“Won’t we get arrested?” Rubio hesitates.
The pair of old men laugh from the front seat as Ted and Marco exit the car. The walk up to the US/Mexico border and take a moment before stepping across into the United States.
“All that money spent on a border wall,” Ted states. “So that we could walk right across like it’s a public street.”
“Really makes you think,” Rubio replied. “Let’s go home, Ted.”
“Home?” Ted questioned. “I am home. We’re in Texas. See that sign? ‘El Paso, 3 miles’, I am home. I’m calling a car. You need to get the fuck out of my state before I have you re-deported.”