Modern Primate

Previously on Santorum Slashfic, Matt Roomby brainstormed ideas for reaching out to the mom vote, then settled in with Ricky for some light erotic reading. This week, Ricky flexes his creativity bone. Better make yourself a whiskey sour, Ricky’s a pretty slow worker!

Just like his advisors suggest, Matt Roomby takes a nice picture for his latest round of mailers in front of an old dilapidated barn, like they used to have in the Depression. In addition to wearing the most worn-in pair of blue jeans he could buy at Nordstrom’s, Matt tries to look a little mean so all the moms will think he is at least one shade of Grey. Research sure pays off sometimes!

Matt’s pictures turn out great, but the American flag Annie Leibovitz draped over the barn door doesn’t POP as much as it should. The campaign has no choice but to hire a graphic designer for each MacBook Pro retina display in Matt’s house. “The first one done is a rotten turnip,” Matt has one of his assistants folksily text his other assistant, who posts the message to Facebook, where each of the designers can access Matt’s instructions, from downstairs. “Also,” Matt texts. “Please turn in your assigned laptop with one of the night footmen before you leave. That way I’ll be able to review the proofs first thing in the morning.”

Ricky wants to help so much but all the graphic designers keep complaining about how he’s slobbering on their shoes and sloughing off piles of dust all over the counter whenever he walks past. “I guess I’ll walk to Chick-fil-a,” Ricky says sadly.

That night Ricky sneaks into Matt Roomby’s office and uses his dedicated Facebook phone to tell the graphic designers to turn the laptops in to Ricky, not the footman like the other message said. They do, but instead of taking the computers right upstairs like Matt Roomby wanted, Ricky hunkers down for a long night of work. He can do better than one oversaturated American flag. Good thing he boughted so much extra chickens at the Chick-fil-a, campaign pictures is hungry business!

It takes all night, but right before daybreak Ricky carries each laptop upstairs and hands them over to Matt and the blonde lady’s night attendants.

When Matt Roomby wakes up, there are five men standing over his bed, each holding out a laptop.

“These aren’t my America the BARNtiful proofs,” Matt says.

“Why is that teen heartthrob gazing longingly at that infant?” the blonde lady asks.

“Oh heck,” Matt says. “Is that…is that Nick Santorum?” He squints at a vaguely familiar figure tagged my bestie. “Also, what is that? That…smell?”

The blonde lady sniffs. “Fried chicken?” she asks.

Matt holds up his now-glistening hand and grimaces. “Whatever it is, the laptops are covered in it.”

Ricky stands in the hallway waggling his bottom. Little bits of food fall out of his bunny tail, but Ricky doesn’t even check to see if there’s leftover pray-away-the-gay fries. He’s that excited about showing Matt Roomby his pictures!