Throughout the hurricane, through his press conferences and his personally run Twitter feed, Chris Christie emerged as kind of a classic action movie hero — flawed, angered, and deeply human. He was a raw nerve of emotion, not afraid to bare his pain and anguish. In a bitter presidential election, it was inspiring to see a politician show a raw, genuine side of himself.
If Cory Booker is like Superman with his do-gooder “I’m here to shovel your walk, ma’am” Cub Scout sheen, then Christie is like Batman — brooding, weary, reluctant. He’s not the hero New Jersey wants. He’s the hero New Jersey deserves.
Here is my fan fiction interpretation of some of Chris's best tweets:
Chris Christie drops to his knees on the beach of Wildwood, NJ. His fists fall to his side. He yells to the heavens, “FUCK YOU GOD YOU FUCKING FUCK DON’T YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM? I WILL COME AND FUCK YOUR IN YOUR FUCKING FUCKHOLE YOU FUCKING FUCKER!” Chris’s shoulders shake as he weeps.
Cory Booker comes up behind him him, placing his hands on Chris’s shoulder. “Chris, it’s OK. Let it go. It’s just New Jersey. We can run for real office someday.”
Chris turns to Cory, his face turning the shade of red known previously only to the New Jersey Devils uniforms. “Booker, I’m going to count to five, and if you’re still here, then God help you because I will stick my foot so far up your asshole you’ll be shining my shoes while you’re brushing your teeth.”
Chris Christie does not fear the ghosts and ghouls of All Hallow’s Eve. Should any goddamn skeletons attempt to rise form the grave on October 31, Chris will scream at their fucking faces until they return to their final resting places, from whence they can rise again over the weekend at the officially scheduled Halloween.
Chris Christie storms into the lieutenant’s office and slaps down his gun, his badge, and his CHRIS CHRISTIE *GOVERNOR* fleece on his desk. “If you think right now I give a damn about presidential politics, then you don’t FUCKING know me.”*
*Actual quote from Christie’s Fox News appearance, with my F-bomb emphasis added.
Chris Christie stares at the log flume, unzips the zipper of his CHRIS CHRISTIE *GOVERNOR* fleece pullover, and pulls out a locket on a necklace. He opens the locket and stares at the photo inside — a picture of Chris and his little sister Tina [for the sake of this narrative I am not going to bother with looking up “facts” such as whether or not he actually has a sister named Tina even though a simple Wikipedia search could tell me] as children riding the log flume. The photo is the kind that gets taken automatically when you go down the final splash. Tina is smiling and laughing, gripping onto the handlebar. Little Chris, about 8 years old, is looking directly into the camera, sticking out his tongue, and giving the finger.
Chris closes the locket and tucks it back into his CHRIS CHRISTIE *GOVERNOR* fleece. He turns away from the ocean, back to the crew of rescue workers assembled. “Let’s do this shit.”
Chris Christie rips off his CHRIS CHRISTIE *GOVERNOR* fleece, his bare chest glistening in the rain and yells, “COME AT ME, SANDY! YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCK WITH ME? JUST FUCKING TRY ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT HURRICANE. JUST FUCKING TRY ME!”
Chris Christie takes a giant gulp of air, then dives down underwater through the submerged halls of the Jersey Shore house. The duck phone floats by as he swims through the living room. He see Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino floating face down and grabs him, swimming him back out of the house.
Chris pulls The Situation out of the water and lays his body onto the deck. He rips off his CHRIS CHRISTIE *GOVERNOR* fleece and uses it as a pillow under Mike's head. Chris starts administering CPR, but The Situation doesn’t respond. His lips are blue and lifeless. He's gone.
“Dammit, Mike, I told you not to be stupid you fucking idiot. I told you not to be stupid. I told you not to be stupid…why didn’t you listen?” Chris yells. “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING STUPID YOU FUCKING IDIOT,” Chris hiccups through his sobs.