We didn’t get a ticket. We requested a press pass but received the four-word email response of: “fuck no, absolutely not.” We also didn’t go to the watch party because we’re still boycotting Frary Potter. But, using the unlimited power of the human imagination, here’s what we think happened.
Despite everything, Chad Bianco still loved Steve Hilton. Who wouldn’t? Steve’s British-American accent could butter anybody’s crumpets–it certainly buttered Chad’s. As he stepped out onto the Bridges Auditorium stage, he tried to hide his blush. That bald, glistening head still got him all flustered. Steve had seized his heart, an action Chad could only try to replicate by seizing 650,000 election ballots. Did Steve even remember him? He couldn’t get rid of his own damn memories. If only he could leave them in prison to die. But who could forget that special night they spent together in Merida all those years ago? Surely, Chad thought, you have to remember being inside of someone.
Steve could barely focus on the moderators’ questions. Chad’s perfectly trimmed mustache beckoned him. Above it, his gentle, submissive eyes glistened like Gatsby’s green light. Steve quickly looked away. Ever since Merida, Chad had always filled him with lust. Chad made him feel like an animal, a Fox chasing its prey. “Blimey,” Steve thought, “I’d bloody kill to see what’s under that Sheriff’s outfit again.” Steve’s attempts at keeping his desires at bay, of course, had led the media to interpret their relationship as a feud; two Republican candidates fighting to capture the base. But this wasn’t about politics; this was about love. It was about the way the memory of their night together kept Steve together. He hadn’t felt so whole since Thatcher abolished free milk for school children. Maybe Chad was worth giving in…
“I’d like to address Mr. Bianco.” Steve had said his name. The moderators had asked some stupid questions about the homelessness crisis, but that didn’t matter; it never did, Steve had said his name. “Mr. Bianco, I cannot hide it any longer; I must confess, tonight, in front of Pomona College and the state of California, that I’ve fallen for you.” Chad gasped. Steve got down on one knee. Chad tried to find something to say. “Steve,” he started, “Steve, how do I know you won’t leave again?” The audience had fallen silent. “You don’t,” Steve replied, “and I don’t know that you won’t leave again, but we love each other now, is that not enough?” Chad felt his eyes welling up with tears. “Chad Bianco, will you make me the happiest man on Earth? Will you be the uke to my seme? Will you marry me?” Chad didn’t reply. “Chad, I asked, will you marry m—” Chad silenced Steve with a kiss. Steve felt Chad’s mustache rub up against his dainty English lips. The audience burst into applause. “I will,” Chad whispered, “of course I will.”