Rebecca knew she certainly wasn’t the only political candidate in history to have things go so tits-up by the end of a campaign. More to the point, certainly not the only female political candidate to have lost against less competent men. That word—female—growing increasingly disdainful to women and men alike. Though, in the past, it would have been considered an “empowering” term designed to promote, in some way, the notion of feminism.

Now, it was considered “in poor taste.” Not just because it was a form of “identity politics,” but because “female” was presently read as a means of somehow “animalizing” women. Who, like men, were technically animals when you got right down to it. Rebecca didn’t mind the characterization. She felt one had to be an “animal” to get things done anyway. Especially as a woman and especially as a woman in politics. And she had long ago grown entirely desensitized to such words and phrases as “bitch,” “white bitch,” “cunt” and “the shrew.” Because if that’s what she had to endure in order to do, well, whatever the fuck she wanted, then so be it.

Did it sting ever so slightly that men could get away with a thousand times more and never be called anything at all? Sure. But one gets over that sting once the numbness sets in. Even when she’s called such things by her own husband. A husband, mind you, that she only decided to marry for “optics” reasons back in 1991, when being a single woman was still unthinkable not only in general but also as a woman considering a career in politics. And yes, even in the “People’s Republic of California,” Rebecca was aware that “singledom” wouldn’t be a characteristic that was “on her side” should she choose to run for governor. It never was, no matter which time in history a woman lived in. For to be in the public eye was to be scrutinized on all levels. Most especially on the “aesthetic” and “romantic” ones for women.

So she settled for Joe, whose name was a testament to his averageness. A quality she both abhorred and also needed in a man if she was to go about the business of being “career-obsessed.” Though, in a man, this quality would merely be called “driven” or “ambitious.” In a woman such as Rebecca, however, it was “selfish” and “calculating.”

No matter to her, though. She would not be deterred in her aims. It was California governor or bust. Alas, as she learned the hard way, “bust” it was to be. But not until after many years of playing a long game, politicking in any and every manner possible to curry favor. Something that wasn’t just her skill, but her passion. Her entire raison d’être. Even when that meant compromising her so-called personal politics. Hence, interning for a Republican senator while attending Harvard. Because, Hey, she told herself, I’m not opposed to flipping if it means getting an immediate government entrée after graduating.

Looking back, she should have known that was the first sign of her moral turpitude. But then, wasn’t that the necessary characteristic to succeed, to endure as a politician, regardless of party affiliation? It’s certainly the example she had seen in every politician she personally admired. For she didn’t exactly get into this “business” because she was an angel. No, she wanted to get shit done. To see things go her way, as she dictated. That was the joy of “ruling.” A term she found herself using far too often for someone who wrote a thesis on “the innovation of American democracy.” More of a concept than a reality in the present anyway. Especially in California, where “the system” was unstoppable. A massive juggernaut of bureaucracy that helped to ensure the “wheels of change” never truly got into motion (in spite of the state’s reputation for being a “beacon of progress”). And that’s, ultimately, what government was all about. What it truly “served” to do: a fat lot of nothing.

Which was what Rebecca sought to sustain. Even amidst her fundamentally false persona of being a “doer.” A “bitch” who “got shit done.” To that end, there were quite a few pieces of video evidence that supported her image as a “massive cunt.” Videos that, as was to be expected, started circulating around the various corners of the internet the closer that election day got. Rebecca, whose name had been additionally called out as an “inherent bitch’s name,” wasn’t worried though. Not yet anyway. She had an entire team of people to help her with these matters, after all. People she employed solely for “damage control.” Little did she know, these were also the people who were going to come out against her as the furor around the various videos began to snowball.

In an especially damning clip, Rebecca could be seen telling one of her staffers to get the fuck out of her office. Unleashing a further invective that managed to squeeze in the fact that she thought this staffer, a woman, was a “fat whore” (and yes, the phrase had probably slipped into her subconscious as a result of too many viewings of Mean Girls). Needless to say, it wasn’t a good look—and definitely not one that would win her supposedly “shoo-in” favor with “the female vote.” Still, she didn’t really lose blind faith in her chances of winning until about two weeks before, when another Democratic candidate with less experience, but also with the beneficial-to-his-identity politics characteristic of being “not white,” started to see a major boost in the polls. And in California right now, not being white was of great importance in this latest election. One that would end the term of the previous governor, a white man who looked like a Ken doll (and was perhaps unjustly criticized as a result—after all, most “ugos” are jealous of hot people).

On that aesthetic note, it would be a lie to say that California wasn’t a state that ought to have a good-looking person in charge of it. Sure, it might sound superficial, but it was the truth. For the state had built its image, through the stereotype of Los Angeles (which somehow came to represent the entire state), on being a population that was looks-obsessed. Rebecca knew that “physical attractiveness” was another quality she was missing, in addition to an ability to “project warmth.” An attribute that people already expected of women in general, but particularly of women in politics. As if they had to soothe the masses with false mellifluousness so as to assure them her period wouldn’t make her “press the button” on a whim, so to speak. But did Rebecca really have to point out that she had already gone through menopause? There was no need to worry on that front. Her bitchery was consistent, not just at certain times of the month. She couldn’t say the same for most male politicians, who seemed to have their period for their entire lives on a nonstop basis.

However, as she soon found out on election day, that was of no consequence to the voters of California. Their progressiveness stopped at letting a “mean” woman into office. Maybe they could have allowed for an unattractive one. But mean. That was just too much to ask.