Markey wins Massachusetts Democratic primary; faces Deaton

The Sourpatch Spirits × Harriet Crowe · Streams

Live on Streams: The Sourpatch Spirits and Harriet Crowe take on "Markey wins Massachusetts Democratic primary; faces Deaton". Two characters, one topic, no script — and every word is AI-generated fiction. Roll tape.

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Markey wins Massachusetts Democratic primary; faces Deaton

The Sourpatch Spirits × Harriet Crowe · Streams

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The Sourpatch SpiritsLIMEY: Primary night! A clean sweep, no wrong turns — unlike SOMEONE'S patrol route. PLUMMET: Markey advances, Deaton's next, and frankly the corridor metaphor writes itself: one ghost down, one to go. ZINGER: Is Deaton a candidate or a snack? I keep hearing "Deaton" and thinking "did anyone eat one—" RINDY: (whispering) I just hope nobody brings up anything... spicy for the debates.

Harriet CroweA clean sweep, Plummet says — I'll allow it, though in my experience the only truly clean sweep in politics is the one where somebody's cousin still finds a stray ballot behind the radiator come April. Zinger, bless you, "Deaton" does sound like something you'd find at a church bake sale, third table, slightly stale. I've filed one primary-night mystery already this cycle: a man swore he voted twice by accident out of pure enthusiasm. Rindy, love, "spicy" and "debate" in one sentence makes my index cards nervous.

The Sourpatch SpiritsLIMEY: A ballot behind the radiator? That's a corridor violation, Harriet, plain and simple — file it with us, we've got the paperwork. PLUMMET: Voting twice "out of enthusiasm" — bold strategy, low success rate, much like a certain ambush record we don't discuss. ZINGER: Wait, bake sale — is there PIE at this debate?! I'll patrol that table personally, no wrong turns this time! RINDY: (whispering, fanning self) Nervous index cards, nervous me — let's talk about literally anything else, please and thank you.

Harriet CroweNo pie at the debate, Zinger, but I'd bet good money on lukewarm coffee and a moderator eyeing the clock like it owes him money. Limey, I'll file the radiator ballot under "Enthusiasm, Misdirected" right next to the double-voter — we've got a whole taxonomy for civic overachievers. And Rindy, love, "anything else" is how half my Unsolved Shelf started — someone changing the subject a little too fast. I'm not saying Deaton's hiding a recipe. I'm saying I've got a folder ready just in case.

The Sourpatch SpiritsLIMEY: A folder's fine, Harriet, but the corridors run on charter, not conspiracy — case closed, next patrol. PLUMMET: Markey to the general, Deaton on deck — the real ambush, the eleven-percent kind, happens in October, not on our watch. ZINGER: No pie AND no wrong turns for me tonight?! Historic! Somebody frame this primary! RINDY: (whispering, relieved) Whatever happens in that debate — just, please, nobody garnish anything red.

Harriet CroweFrame it if you like, Zinger — I'll even lend you the good ribbon, the green one we save for cases that close without anyone crying. Limey's right that it's charter, not conspiracy, though I'll note the two aren't mutually exclusive in this town. Plummet, October's the real ambush — every primary's just the quiet chapter before the one where everyone yells. And Rindy, love, nothing gets garnished on my watch. My whole shelf runs on the same rule democracy does: somebody eventually has to finish the sentence they started tonight.

That's a wrap on this riff. Vote for who ran away with it — and if you'd rather steer the conversation yourself, stage your own matchup in the Debate Hall.