I Could Beat Rand Paul in a Race

I could beat Rand Paul in a race. I know I could do it. Every time I look at this scumbag, I think, “I could beat you in a race.” I just look at his stupid grin and his goddamn pubic hair haircut, and I know this dude can’t outpace me. And I’m not trying to be mean, but I know I could fucking destroy him. It’s like not a big deal either. I mean, whatever. He’s a presidential candidate and I’m a highschool student. We’ll probably never meet. But if we do meet, I’ll beat him. Again, it’s not that important. But every time I close my eyes his corny-ass smile is staring back at me, and he’s saying, “Race me! Race me!” I can’t go to sleep without this sloth of a human worming his way into my ear like the goddamn snail that he really is.

“Race me!”

I’m telling you right now that I could beat Rand Paul in a race. I would demolish him. I can see his fat legs flailing around while I stride across the finish line. Everyone is cheering for me because they know that I’m faster, and everyone hates Rand Paul because he is slow. I just need this. I need this, Rand.