"Bubbles Rubio": The Spineless Fucking Sellout
Credit to Wonkette Marcie....Hugely
There's something deeply infuriating about watching a politician transform before your eyes like some kind of twisted magic trick. One minute they're standing on principle, the next they're bending so far backward their spine might snap—if they had one to begin with. Marco Rubio, Florida's gift to the political cesspool of Washington, has perfected this dark art to such a degree that it deserves its own damn exhibit in the Museum of Political Bullshit.
The immigration flip-flop that defined a career
Remember 2013? Obama was president, "Blurred Lines" was somehow a hit song, and Marco Rubio was busy crafting what would become known as the Gang of Eight immigration bill. This comprehensive reform package was supposed to be his crowning achievement—the thing that would cement his legacy as a forward-thinking Republican who could bridge divides.
Then the conservative base caught a whiff of it, slapped an "AMNESTY" label on that motherfucker faster than you could say "border security," and Rubio backpedaled so quickly he practically created a new Olympic sport. The political whiplash was enough to send viewers to the chiropractor.
"I've learned that in this country, if you have a problem with the immigration system—and we do—it has to be solved with a comprehensive approach," Rubio confidently declared in January 2013, standing tall like he actually believed what was coming out of his mouth.
Fast forward a few months, and the tune changed so dramatically you'd think someone had yanked the needle off his personal record: "The Senate immigration bill was a mistake," he muttered to conservative media, his tail tucked so far between his legs it practically came out his throat.
This wasn't just a minor policy adjustment—this was abandoning his own fucking creation like it was a burning building. The speed with which Rubio divorced himself from his own immigration bill was faster than most Hollywood marriages dissolve.
The climate change two-step
Speaking of elaborate dances, Rubio's climate change positioning has been a choreographed routine that would exhaust even the most seasoned ballet dancer. Florida—his home state—is literally sinking into the goddamn ocean, with Miami streets flooding on sunny days, and what's his response?
"I'm not a scientist, man."
That was Rubio's infamous 2015 dodge when asked about climate change, as if being a non-scientist somehow exempted him from having to understand or address one of the most pressing issues facing his constituents. It's like saying, "I'm not a firefighter, man" while your house burns down around you.
When the heat (both literal and political) became too much to ignore, Rubio evolved his position to acknowledge that yes, humans might be contributing to climate change, but no, he wouldn't support any meaningful legislation to address it. It's the political equivalent of admitting your house is on fire but refusing to call the fire department because you're concerned about water damage.
Watching Rubio dance around climate policy while his state slowly drowns is like watching someone rearrange deck chairs on the Titanic—except he's charging admission and calling it leadership.
The absentee senator
If you hired someone who showed up to work as infrequently as Marco Rubio did during his 2016 presidential run, you'd fire their ass faster than you could print their final paycheck. During his failed bid for the White House, Rubio missed a staggering 35% of Senate votes, treating his day job like an optional commitment rather than, you know, the fucking job Floridians elected him to do.
When called out on this abysmal attendance record, Rubio had the audacity to suggest that missing votes doesn't matter because "voting is not the only part of the Senate job." Sure, and showing up isn't the only part of any job, but it's generally considered a pretty important starting point.
The Sun Sentinel, which had previously endorsed him, eviscerated his attendance record in a blistering editorial titled "Marco Rubio should resign, not rip us off," writing that he "has failed, and failed miserably" at his job. When you've lost the paper that once supported you, you know you've screwed up royally.
But Rubio's response? A political shoulder shrug equivalent of "whatever, man." This casual disregard for the basic responsibilities of his office speaks volumes about how he views public service—less as a sacred duty and more as a convenient platform for his own ambitions.
The water bottle incident: a metaphor made manifest
Sometimes the universe delivers a perfect visual metaphor, and in 2013, during Rubio's response to Obama's State of the Union address, the cosmos didn't disappoint. There he was, the Republican party's rising star, parched and desperate, awkwardly lurching sideways mid-speech to grab a tiny water bottle while maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with the camera.
It was a moment of such pure, unfiltered awkwardness that it transcended simple embarrassment and became something more profound—a perfect visual representation of a politician desperately thirsting for power while trying to maintain the appearance of composure.
The internet, predictably, had a fucking field day. SNL parodied it. Twitter exploded. The water bottle lunge became more memorable than anything Rubio actually said that night. But the real tragedy wasn't the momentary physical awkwardness—it was how perfectly it encapsulated his political essence: desperately reaching for something to save himself while trying to pretend everything was normal.
The Trump relationship: From "con artist" to convenient ally
If you want to witness political dignity being sacrificed on the altar of expediency, look no further than Marco Rubio's relationship with Donald Trump. During the 2016 primary, Rubio called Trump a "con artist" and warned that he was "the most vulgar person to ever aspire to the presidency."
"He's dangerous," Rubio declared with what appeared to be genuine alarm. "We cannot allow the conservative movement to be taken over by a con artist who is preying on people's fears and anxieties."
Fast forward to Trump's presidency, and suddenly Rubio transformed into one of Trump's most reliable defenders, supporting him through scandals, impeachments, and policies that contradicted Rubio's supposedly deeply-held convictions.
This isn't just garden-variety political hypocrisy—this is Olympic-level moral gymnastics. Rubio went from warning the country about the danger Trump posed to American democracy to essentially saying, "Well, he may be a dangerous con artist, but he's OUR dangerous con artist."
The transformation was so complete that you'd be forgiven for thinking the 2016 version of Rubio had been replaced by a doppelgänger with a pathological need for presidential approval. It's the kind of spine-free political calculation that makes voters wonder if there's anything—literally anything—this man wouldn't sacrifice for political survival.
The NRA's faithful servant after Parkland
When 17 people were murdered at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, in February 2018, Marco Rubio found himself in a position no politician envies: facing grieving constituents demanding action on gun control while being financially indebted to the NRA, which had pumped over $3.3 million into his campaigns.
At a CNN town hall, Rubio stood before parents who had just buried their children and offered what amounted to "thoughts and prayers" wrapped in political doublespeak. When asked point-blank by Fred Guttenberg, whose daughter Jaime had been killed in the shooting, if he would stop taking NRA money, Rubio couldn't even commit to that basic gesture of decency.
"The influence of these groups comes not from money," Rubio insisted, apparently with a straight face, as if the millions in his campaign coffers were just coincidental paperweights rather than investments in his policy positions.
The audience's boos and jeers told the real story: here was a man so captured by special interests that even in the face of unimaginable tragedy in his own state, he couldn't summon the moral courage to break free. It was a political crucible that revealed the true metal of the man—and that metal turned out to be as malleable as warm butter.
China rhetoric vs. family business: Hypocrisy goes home
Rubio loves to talk tough on China. He's positioned himself as one of the Senate's leading China hawks, warning about the threat posed by the Chinese Communist Party and advocating for policies to counter Chinese influence.
Meanwhile, in a plot twist worthy of a political soap opera, his brother-in-law, Orlando Cicilia, registered as a foreign agent lobbying for Chinese interests. Nothing says "tough on China" quite like having family members cashing checks from the very government you're publicly condemning.
This isn't just run-of-the-mill hypocrisy; this is hypocrisy with a side of nepotism and a dash of "rules for thee but not for me." It's the kind of double standard that would be laughable if it weren't so deeply corrosive to public trust.
Rubio has built a political brand on fighting Chinese influence while that influence apparently has a direct line to his family dinner table. It's not just talking out of both sides of his mouth—it's speaking different languages depending on whether he's addressing voters or his extended family.
The political robot malfunctions
Perhaps the most damning moment of Rubio's 2016 presidential campaign came during a Republican debate when Chris Christie exposed what many had long suspected: Marco Rubio was less a thinking politician and more a well-programmed political robot, capable of repeating the same memorized talking points regardless of the question.
In a moment that became instantly infamous, Rubio repeated nearly verbatim the same canned attack on President Obama four times in the span of a few minutes, even after Christie called him out for it. It was political autopilot at its most embarrassing—a glitch in the Matrix that couldn't be unseen.
"There it is," Christie declared. "The memorized 25-second speech."
The exchange was devastating not just because it made Rubio look foolish in the moment, but because it confirmed what critics had long said about him: that beneath the polished exterior was a politician without depth, without genuine conviction, armed only with focus-grouped talking points and rehearsed outrage.
This wasn't just a bad debate performance; it was an accidental revealing of the political machinery behind the man. The curtain was pulled back, and instead of the Wizard of Oz, voters saw a nervous politician frantically pushing buttons and pulling levers, desperately trying to maintain the illusion of substance.
PPP Loans: Rich People Only
When the COVID-19 pandemic hit and small businesses were drowning faster than tourists caught in a rip tide, the Paycheck Protection Program was supposed to be their life raft. Instead, under watchful eyes like Rubio's, it became a yacht party for the already wealthy and well-connected.
As Chair of the Senate Committee on Small Business and Entrepreneurship, Rubio helped craft and oversee this program. And when large, publicly traded companies and political donors scooped up millions while mom-and-pop shops were left begging for crumbs, Rubio's response was basically the political equivalent of "shit happens."
While actual small businesses were shuttering permanently, Rubio defended a system that allowed companies with access to capital markets and armies of lawyers to vacuum up emergency funds. It was trickle-down economics in action—except nothing was trickling down except despair and bankruptcy notices.
The PPP scandal wasn't just a policy failure; it was a moral one. It revealed a fundamental truth about Rubio and his ilk: their definition of "helping small business" includes making sure their wealthy donors get fed first, with the actual small businesses fighting for whatever scraps might be left over.
Venezuela Policy: Theater and Popcorn
Rubio's aggressive stance on Venezuela has been a centerpiece of his foreign policy portfolio, positioning himself as a champion of democracy and human rights against the Maduro regime. And to be fair, the humanitarian crisis in Venezuela is real and deserving of international concern.
But there's something about the selective nature of Rubio's outrage that makes his Venezuela fixation feel more like a calculated political play for Florida's Latin American voters than genuine humanitarian concern. It's foreign policy as electoral strategy, with the suffering of Venezuelans serving as convenient political props.
When Rubio tweets about Venezuela, you can almost see the political calculations happening in real time: how will this play in Miami-Dade? Will this help secure the Cuban-American vote? It's not that his concerns about Venezuela are necessarily wrong—it's that they seem driven more by ballot box considerations than by consistent moral principles.
This instrumentalization of foreign policy for domestic political gain isn't unique to Rubio, but he's elevated it to something of an art form, using the genuine suffering of Venezuelans as a backdrop for his own political ambitions with all the subtlety of a carnival barker.
Fuck the Environment
Florida's environmental treasures—its beaches, the Everglades, its crystal springs—are among the state's most precious assets. Yet Rubio's environmental record is about as protective of these treasures as a wrecking ball operator is of historic architecture.
Take the 2013 Water Resources Development Act. While Rubio touted his support for the bill as evidence of his commitment to Florida's environment, environmental advocates pointed out that the legislation would actually gut critical water protections. It was like claiming to save a forest while handing out chainsaws.
Rubio has consistently sided with corporate polluters over environmental protections, all while wrapping himself in the flag of environmental stewardship whenever election season rolls around. It's greenwashing of the highest order—a thin veneer of environmental concern painted over a solid core of corporate servitude.
For a senator representing a state as environmentally vulnerable as Florida, Rubio's environmental record isn't just disappointing—it's a betrayal of his state's future. He's essentially selling Florida's environmental heritage to the highest corporate bidder while asking voters to thank him for his service.
The Cuban Connection: There Isnt One
Rubio's personal narrative as the son of Cuban exiles who fled Castro's revolution has been central to his political identity. It's a compelling story that resonates deeply with Florida's Cuban-American community and has helped shape his political brand.
There's just one small problem: it isn't entirely true.
As the Washington Post reported in 2011, Rubio's parents actually left Cuba in 1956—more than two years before Castro seized power. They didn't flee communism; they immigrated during the Batista regime for economic reasons.
When this discrepancy came to light, Rubio scrambled to explain that he had merely repeated the "family lore" he'd grown up with. But for a politician who had leveraged this exile narrative so extensively, the revelation struck many as more than just an innocent misunderstanding.
It felt like the political equivalent of stolen valor—appropriating the powerful and emotional experience of political exile for personal political gain. It raised uncomfortable questions about Rubio's authenticity and his willingness to embellish or manipulate his personal story for political advantage.
For a man who positions himself as a fiscal conservative concerned about government spending and financial responsibility, Rubio's personal financial history reads like a cautionary tale of fiscal mismanagement.
In 2012, despite carrying student loan debt and other financial obligations, Rubio somehow found the money to purchase an $80,000 luxury speedboat. In 2014, he liquidated a retirement account worth $68,000, taking a significant tax penalty in the process—a financial move that any financial advisor would strongly caution against.
These aren't just personal financial choices; they're revealing glimpses into the character of a man who wants to help shape America's economic policies. If Rubio manages his own finances with such apparent disregard for basic financial prudence, why should voters trust him to make sound decisions about the nation's economy?
It's a bit like taking financial advice from someone who's maxed out all their credit cards buying lottery tickets—technically they might understand how money works, but their judgment seems fundamentally suspect.
Dream Act Dance: Clumsy Two Left Footed AssHat
Rubio's position on the DREAM Act and protections for undocumented youth who were brought to the U.S. as children has been a political dance so elaborate it deserves its own category in competitive ballroom.
In 2012, Rubio was working on his own version of the DREAM Act, positioning himself as a compassionate conservative who wanted to find a solution for these young people caught in immigration limbo. Then President Obama announced DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals), and Rubio promptly abandoned his own proposal faster than rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Since then, his position on Dreamers has shifted with the political winds, supporting or opposing various immigration measures depending on which way the Republican base was leaning at any given moment. It's been a masterclass in political evasion, with Rubio trying to thread an impossible needle: appearing compassionate without alienating the anti-immigration hardliners in his party.
The result has been a series of half-measures, abandoned initiatives, and empty promises that have left Dreamers hanging in the balance while Rubio tries to calculate the precise political position that will cost him the least political capital.
The Bible is His Shield
Nothing quite says "selective religious interpretation" like a politician who tweets Bible verses to justify partisan positions while conveniently ignoring scriptural teachings that might contradict their policy preferences.
Rubio has made a habit of peppering his social media with biblical quotes, positioning himself as a faith-guided leader whose political positions flow naturally from his religious convictions. It's a powerful narrative, especially with evangelical voters.
But this performance of public piety strikes many as hollow when juxtaposed against policies that seem at odds with Christian teachings about caring for the poor, welcoming the stranger, and pursuing peace and justice.
When Rubio quotes scripture to justify hardline immigration policies or opposition to social safety net programs, it comes across less as genuine religious conviction and more as cynical religious weaponization—cherry-picking verses that can be used to sanctify predetermined political positions while ignoring the broader moral imperatives of the faith he claims to follow.
Social Security is a Ponzi Scheme
Rubio has repeatedly suggested raising the retirement age and altering Social Security benefits—proposals that would effectively pull up the retirement ladder behind him while he enjoys a generous congressional pension.
For younger Americans already facing an uncertain economic future, Rubio's proposed "reforms" amount to working longer for less security. It's the political equivalent of telling someone drowning in student debt and facing a housing market they can't afford that they'll also need to work an extra five years before they can even think about retirement.
Senior advocacy groups have rightly called him out for these positions, recognizing them for what they are: attempts to chip away at one of America's most successful social programs under the guise of "saving" it.
When Rubio talks about Social Security reform, he wraps it in the language of fiscal responsibility and necessary sacrifice. But it's hard not to notice that the sacrifices he proposes always seem to fall hardest on those least able to bear them, while the wealthy donors funding his campaigns continue to enjoy their tax cuts and loopholes.
Pulse: Not Enough Gay People Were Killed
When a gunman killed 49 people at Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, in June 2016, Rubio expressed sympathy for the victims and their families. On the surface, this was the appropriate response from a senator representing the state where this tragedy occurred.
But the hollowness of these expressions became apparent when viewed alongside Rubio's consistent opposition to LGBTQ+ protections and rights. His condolences, while perhaps genuinely felt in the moment, rang empty against the backdrop of a legislative record that has consistently treated LGBTQ+ Americans as second-class citizens.
It's the political equivalent of punching someone in the face and then offering them a Band-Aid—the gesture of help seems somewhat undermined by the harm that preceded it.
For many LGBTQ+ Floridians and their allies, Rubio's response to the Pulse shooting exemplified a broader pattern: performative compassion without substantive action, thoughts and prayers without policy changes, sympathy without allyship.
Big Tech is Good, When it Doesnt Bite You
Few things expose political duplicity quite like watching a politician rail against an industry while simultaneously cashing its checks. Rubio has positioned himself as a fierce critic of Big Tech companies, decrying their power and influence and suggesting they need to be reined in.
Meanwhile, he's been more than happy to accept their political donations, creating a contradictory narrative that would be comical if it weren't so cynical. It's performative populism at its finest—thunder against the powerful for the cameras, then sidle up to them with an open palm when the lights go down.
This isn't just ordinary political inconsistency; it's a deliberate strategy of playing both sides. Rubio gets to position himself as a champion of the little guy standing up to Big Tech overreach while simultaneously benefiting from the very corporate influence he publicly condemns.
It's a political shell game designed to let him have his cake and eat it too, banking donations from the very entities he criticizes while hoping voters won't notice the contradiction. But in the age of campaign finance transparency, this kind of double-dealing is increasingly difficult to hide—and increasingly difficult for voters to stomach.
ACA: My Party is More Important Than Your Health
Florida has one of the highest Affordable Care Act (ACA) enrollment rates in the country, with millions of Floridians relying on the healthcare marketplace for their insurance coverage. Yet Rubio has been a consistent opponent of the law, voting repeatedly to repeal it without offering a viable replacement that would protect his constituents' access to healthcare.
This isn't just a policy disagreement; it's a fundamental abdication of his responsibility to represent the interests of the people who elected him. When Rubio votes to dismantle the ACA, he's effectively voting to strip healthcare from hundreds of thousands of his own constituents—people who would have no alternative for coverage if the law were repealed.
It's difficult to imagine a more stark example of placing party loyalty above constituent needs. Rubio has chosen to prioritize Republican opposition to "Obamacare" over the real-world healthcare needs of the Floridians he was elected to represent.
This willingness to sacrifice constituent welfare on the altar of partisan politics reveals something profound about Rubio's approach to governance: when forced to choose between serving his party or serving his people, he consistently chooses the former.
Give Me All Your Money
Perhaps nothing encapsulates Marco Rubio's political essence quite like his approach to campaign finance. While positioning himself as a champion of the American Dream and an advocate for working families, Rubio has assiduously courted billionaire donors and super PACs, filling his campaign coffers with the kind of wealth that most of his constituents will never come close to experiencing.
During his 2016 presidential run, Rubio was famously backed by billionaire auto dealer Norman Braman, who has poured millions into supporting Rubio's political career. This kind of billionaire backing stands in stark contrast to Rubio's carefully cultivated image as a man of the people who understands the struggles of ordinary Americans.
There's something profoundly disingenuous about a politician who speaks of economic opportunity for all while quietly ensuring that the economic playing field remains tilted in favor of the wealthy donors who bankroll his campaigns. It's a political sleight of hand designed to make voters believe he's fighting for them when in reality, he's serving the interests of those who can afford to buy access to power.
Conclusion: Empty Nothingburger With 5 Braincells
Marco Rubio represents a particular archetype in American politics: the ambitious climber whose principles are as changeable as Florida weather, whose convictions extend only as far as the next election cycle, and whose moral compass seems permanently fixed on political self-preservation rather than public service.
What makes Rubio especially frustrating is that he's not without talent. He's articulate, intelligent, and capable of moments of genuine political insight. But these qualities make his failures of character all the more damning—this isn't a man who doesn't know better; this is a man who chooses to be less than he could be because the path of least resistance leads to reelection.
In a political system desperate for authentic leadership, Rubio offers carefully calibrated performance. In a nation hungry for moral courage, he provides political calculation. In a time that demands honest confrontation with our most pressing challenges, he delivers focus-grouped talking points and Bible verses stripped of their moral imperatives.
Marco Rubio is the empty suit of Florida politics—impeccably tailored, aesthetically pleasing, but ultimately hollow where it counts. And as long as voters continue to accept style over substance, performance over principle, and partisan loyalty over moral courage, politicians like Rubio will continue to thrive in the swampy ecosystem of American politics.
Citations:
Leary, A. (2018). "Rubio faces backlash from students, gun control advocates after shooting." Tampa Bay Times, February 21, 2018.
Roig-Franzia, M. (2011). "Marco Rubio's compelling family story embellishes facts, documents show." The Washington Post, October 21, 2011.
Pequena perra
You ever notice his ears?