Waking Up with RNC Chairman Reince Priebus

An alarm clock rings and Reince reaches over, knocking off his bedside lamp and shattering a lightbulb on the floor.

Sally Preibus: Reince, is everything OK?

Reince glances at the shards of glass covering the floor.

Reince: Yep. Must be our lucky day, nothing broke!

Reince walks on the glass shards, cutting his feet, whistling happily to himself as blood smudges on the floor. He looks out the window. An 18-wheeler is overturned directly behind his driveway. In the background, the line of cars is backed up beyond the horizon, the honks growing increasingly severe.

Reince’s cellphone rings. It’s his assistant.

Reince: Hey, Samantha!

Samantha: Reince, I heard on the radio that traffic is looking bad… think you’ll be able to make it in on time?

Reince: You betcha! I’ll be downtown faster than a Hillary meeting invite for a major Foundation donor!

Reince gets into his car, pulls to the end of his driveway, and sits staring blankly with a vacant half smile for 90 minutes as the accident is cleared.

He pulls out, turns the corner, and is immediately sideswiped by a GMC Yukon. The Yukon backs up, slams again into his passenger side to fully crumple the door, and drives away. Reince gets out to survey the damage.

Reince (to no one in particular): Well wouldya look at that, not even a scratch. Talk about a close call!

Reince shakes his head and lets out a chuckle.

Half an hour later, he arrives at the RNC headquarters, his car billowing smoke from under the hood, and walks inside. He puts his lunchbox into a colorful cubby labeled “Reince” and checks his mailbox, where he finds a package from Donald Trump.

Reince (loudly): You’ve got mail!

Reince, beaming, looks around expectantly at his colleagues, but they all silently keep working with their heads down. He opens the package. It’s Paul Ryan’s severed pinky, with a note saying “Pansy Paul said he wouldn’t defend me. But look who has short fingers now. Tough!”

Reince thinks for a moment.

Reince: Well you know what, I once TP-ed a friend’s house in high school, so who am I to cast stones? Better to focus on the issues.

Reince walks into his office, fills a bowl with cornflakes, and pours a quarter bottle of whiskey over them.

Reince: Time for breakfast!