Congressman Devin Nunes arrived in Washington D.C. bright-eyed and anxious to make his mark on the House of Representatives. Naive, perhaps, he quickly fell in with a friendly crowd of men right out of a Brooks Brothers ad. They were hospitable and had a lot in common with him. The same core values, really. The ones he wanted for America.
But they always had questions too. “Do you own any orange ties?” “Where were you on the day of September 28, 2002?” “What are your feelings on towels being draped over your shoulder?” “Never go to Fort Myers, Florida.”
At times, they spoke a language he couldn’t quite grasp. “Hoya saxa” they’d murmur to one another. He’d regularly walk into them regaling each other with stories of a man named “Big John” and their disdain for a gentleman named “Bay-heim?” He wasn’t sure of the spelling or pronunciation. However, whenever any of them would utter his name, they’d erupt into a fit of rage.
One time, he finally got up the courage to ask them what all of these perceived code words were about.
“Trey,” he hesitantly asked Indiana congressman Trey Hollingsworth, “What are these hoyas you all keep discussing?”
“Why, the Georgetown Hoyas, of course,” Hollingsworth proclaimed. “Don’t tell me you know nothing of the District of Columbia’s premier college basketball team.”
All at once, Hollingsworth grabbed Nunes’s arm and whisked him away to the nearest coffee house. There, the Georgetown Caucus watched games. The Georgetown Caucus, he’d discover, was the name the group he’d befriended had given to themselves. They were the 28 graduates of Georgetown University to serve in Congress.
“You’re sure he’s not the guy?” asked another Caucus member.
“I’m positive, really,” insisted Hollingsworth.
So the Georgetown Caucus taught Nunes everything about Hoyas basketball and their ways. Before long, he hated teams like Ohio, Florida Gulf Coast, VCU -- but most of all, Syracuse. He sang the fight song, he always brought a towel with him and despised orange juice.
“Now you’re ready to join the House Intelligence Committee,” announced Hollingsworth.
Before long, Nunes was not just ON the House Intelligence Committee, but the chairman of it. He prided himself on sweeping statements, broad generalizations of people and began to specialize in metaphors. A favorite of the Caucus was his patented “lemmings with suicide vests.” He couldn’t tell you what it meant, and neither could they. But they saw it as the reason why Syracuse left the Big East.
Eventually, Nunes began to act strange, however. He gravitated toward something orange. It wasn’t Syracuse’s mascot Otto. But the hue of this... individual was certainly closer to a shade of the detested citrus fruit than it was to the alabaster shades of the Caucus.
“You’re SURE he’s not associated with that blog?” a clearly concerned Jefferson Smith asked Hollingsworth.
“I’m certain,” Hollingsworth assured him. “He didn’t even know about Georgetown. How would he have known anything about Syracuse?”
Eventually, Nunes’s orange-looking associate brought him aboard the transition team as he prepared to assume control of the White House. Nunes was tasked with hiring, or “extreme vetting” as his associate would later dub it, for the administration.
The work started out mundane, then became all encompassing. It trumped every other part of Nunes’s professional career — even his role as Intelligence Chair. He was seen wearing red hats now and again. They were the the fashionable sign of his associate’s club.
“St. John’s?” Jefferson Smith pressed Hollingsworth in January.
“I’ve seen the Manchurian Candidate and that’s not him. I mean, he’s no Sinatra OR Denzel,” replied Hollingworth in a huff.
As questions arose about his associate, Nunes was defensive. He wouldn’t look into discussions about Russia. Or especially when the Georgetown Caucus asked about which team the associate (now the President of the United States) pulled for, Nunes was far from eager to share that information. The Caucus never saw him during games anymore. Though admittedly, they’d stopped watching as well, as was the norm by this time of year.
Still, Hollingsworth and the Caucus peppered Nunes on the issue, especially after a Twitter outburst from the President. It was about wire-tapping. Or tire-wrapping. They couldn’t tell.
“If the President lives in D.C. and Florida, why would he need to wrap his tires?” asked the Caucus. “That sort of treatment’s for colder climates.”
Heat rose on Nunes to take action in investigating the need for tire-wrapping. On March 21, he gave an unauthorized press conference about the President’s vehicle, citing anonymous sources confirming that it had been wrapped as part of a larger inquiry into something Russian. No one cared what. He was adamant that this source was not from the White House.
Just over a week later, it ends up the source was from the White House. Nunes was accused of protecting the orange-colored associate while usurping his responsibilities as Intelligence Chair. The Georgetown Caucus began to furiously connect the dots between cold weather, orange coloring and of course, tire-wrapping.
The link between Syracuse and Nunes was made. The Georgetown Caucus had him cornered, literally.
Question after question rained down, and Nunes’s stance was apparent. He altered his responses to friend and foe to fit any situation. He definitely lied to Bloomberg. He was steadfast in his orange commitment, though he’d never say so outright.
Just as the Caucus was about to get him to confess, some Reddit threads took human form, yelled that Obama framed him, and then vanished with Nunes in hand. The beleaguered congressman was gone.
When the dust settled, the Georgetown Caucus looked at one another, silent and dumfounded. That is, until one individual finally spoke up.
“You know what, Trey?” Jefferson Smith exclaimed to Hollingsworth. “Nunes is an Absolute Magician.”