Marco Rubio has just finished addressing his supporters after the South Carolina primary. He and his aide, Horatio, are looking for their rental car when they see a faded Jeb Bush campaign poster. Marco stops to contemplate it.
M: Alas, poor Jeb! He was my mentor, Horatio. Now he is as dead as Yorick.
H: Politicians are like athletes–they die twice. Sometimes more than twice. Just ask Mike Huckabee.
M: He gave me a sword, and I beheaded him. It feels like patricide.
H: Yes, I can see it now: Rubio Rex! Just leave out the part about sleeping with your mother.
M: He’ll be humiliated at family gatherings. And most of it is his brother’s fault.
H: His brother poisoned the well, and he drank from it.
M: He should never have run.
H: He was a man of his times, and the times changed.
M: Oh, well. We need to move on. There are battles ahead in foreign lands with Trump and Cruz, and we actually need to win this time.
H: Woe be to all if we should lose
To Trump or that extremist, Cruz.
They find the rental car and head for the airport.