EXCLUSIVE: Beto’s Debate Journal

It's not uncommon for presidential candidates to scribble down some notes or talking points on sheets of paper during a debate. It is, however, highly unusual for candidates to leave behind a sprawling journal entry of the kind found on Beto O'Rourke's lectern following Wednesday night's showdown in Miami. What follow is a (lightly edited) transcript of the document, as obtained by the Washington Free Beacon:

"Here I am in the place where I come to get low. Miami, the bass and the sunset low." — Will Smith

South Florida is "hot." Not the modern definition (sexy, cool) but rather the more traditional one involving weather. Sweated through my first suit before I even left the hotel. I'm on number four right now, and will have to change again during the next commercial break. Tie is soaked.

David Rutz breaks down the most important news about the enemies of freedom, here and around the world, in this comprehensive morning newsletter.

Sign up here and stay informed!

Why do we even wear suits? Perhaps it's only fair, in our patriarchal hegemony, that men are forced to be uncomfortable and sweaty every now and then. But I would never willingly "suit up" to run a 5K race, or bike around a country lake, or get behind the wheel to chase horizons down the open road.

Tonight, I am a dancing bear, to be jeered at by a fickle press corps who surrendered their hearts to me in Texas, only to decide I wasn't good enough to bring home to mom and dad, that I wasn't "‘long-term" material, that they always saw our relationship as "more of a side chick situation." I'm starting to think they only shacked up with me to get back at Ted. Just look at them, sitting there all smug, talking trash behind my back to all their friends. Assholes.

Miami is the opposite of "punk," but at least everyone speaks Spanish here. On a related note, I owe Jeb Bush a debt of gratitude for reminding me to stop listing my ethnicity as "Hispanic." I'm not sure I could fake another apology for abusing my privilege. They would have roasted me for doing that, and yet somehow Pocahontas over here gets a pass. Maybe she's what the media had in mind when they told me they wanted to "try girls for a change."

If they call on Cory Booker before me and he starts speaking Spanish I am going to quit the race right here, right now. His accent is terrible. I wish I was black, though, or at least gay. America is a tapestry. Hell, sometimes I wish I was a goddamn socialist. It's exhausting, spouting all this vague nonsense about "fair" taxation and "universal healthcare access" just because I don't believe in all that left-wing bulls—t.

What am I even doing here? I miss the road. I miss the heartland. I miss the solitude of sunsets. Hell, I miss the blog, that feeling of discovery and the archeology of excavating words from dirt — the great American soil on which dreams are built. If it comes to that, I'll say I'm quitting because I miss my wife and kids.

Relax, Beto. This is your chance to shine. Tienes el poder de las palabras. None of the other candidates would dare attack you. Not with Lyin' Liz Warren standing front and center. Not with Joe Biden leading the pack. You're the underdog, you're going to prove everyone wrong, even the media. They'll come to their senses, realize what they've been missing, and declare you the unanimous winner. You might even win the nomination, get elected president, and everyone will remember that it started right here on this stage. This is your night.

P.S. Remember to have fun!