I have developed a visceral disgust for Rafael Cruz. It’s the unique kind of irreversible revulsion that only comes after a betrayal of trust, one that grows in its intensity each time you hear the offender’s voice or see their face.
In 2013, I discovered Cruz, as his star was rising hot and bright within Tea Party circles. The freshman senator was quickly becoming a folk hero of sorts, lauded for his knowledge of the Constitution, and for going toe-to-toe with the Establishment on a regular basis. I was outspoken about my admiration for Cruz, which of course drew incensed backlash from snarky liberal friends who, regardless of their age, struggle with the concept of restraining themselves in the interest of mutual amicability – especially on social media. I went to bat for Cruz, defending his honor against nitwits who are ideologically perverse enough to carry the torch for Barack Hussein Obama or Bernie Sandernista. My resolve to stick up for poor Ted and his flock was steeled.
Cruz was the first Republican to announce his entrance into the 2016 race. He buttered us all up with the heartwarming tale that his darling wife, Heidi, had lovingly given her blessing to cash in their retirement savings so Ted could afford to run for president (which turned out to be misleading.) My own wife gave her blessing when I proposed we donate to the Cruz campaign – which I nearly did on Day 1, but a little voice from my gut told me to hold off.
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