Democratic Senate Candidate Says License Plate “H8JEWS” Was a Coincidence

In an exclusive investigation, The Critical Chronicle has uncovered a political scandal so absurd it could only emerge from the fevered swamp of modern campaign trails. Democratic Senate Candidate John Doe—whose name we’re legally obligated to use because satire doesn’t pay for lawsuits—has sparked nationwide outrage after his custom license plate, “H8JEWS,” was spotted cruising through a swing-state suburb. Doe, a self-proclaimed “champion of inclusivity,” insists the plate is a “total coincidence” and not, as critics suggest, a neon-lit dog whistle to the tiki-torch crowd.

Sources close to the campaign, who spoke on condition of anonymity while sipping overpriced oat milk lattes, claim Doe ordered the plate during a “late-night eBay bender” in 2019. “He thought it stood for ‘Hate Juice,’” one aide confided, gesturing wildly to a juicer in the campaign office. “John’s been on a cleanse since the midterms. He’s rabidly anti-pulp.” The Chronicle’s rigorous fact-checking—conducted via a Ouija board and a Magic 8-Ball—reveals Doe’s disdain for orange juice is matched only by his love for artisanal kale smoothies, a quirk that allegedly fuels his 3 a.m. policy rants about “Big Citrus conspiracies.”

Doe’s defense, delivered with the gravitas of a man explaining quantum physics to a goldfish, hinges on a convoluted tale of DMV clerical errors. “I requested ‘H8J3WS,’” Doe declared at a press conference, flanked by interns clutching crystals to ward off bad vibes. “It was meant to honor my cousin, Jess, who’s, like, super into jazz. I’m a victim of bureaucratic typos!” When pressed on why his campaign RV also sports a bumper sticker reading “Soros Ate My Homework,” Doe pivoted to his platform of “free Wi-Fi for all, unless you’re on a globalist watchlist.”

The Chronicle’s deep dive into Doe’s past uncovered further eccentricities. A former tech entrepreneur, Doe once pitched a startup called “SwastikaFit,” a fitness tracker shaped like a “historically misunderstood pinwheel” that vibrated to alert users of “cultural impurities” in their kale. “It was ahead of its time,” a former colleague mused, noting Doe’s penchant for wearing Viking helmets to board meetings. This reporter also obtained grainy footage of Doe at a 2023 county fair, where he reportedly won a pie-eating contest by shouting, “This crust is so good, it’s practically Aryan!”

Voters, predictably, are split. A recent poll conducted by the Chronicle’s intern, Chad, at a local vape shop found 47% of respondents believe Doe’s explanation, while 53% suspect he moonlights as a Reddit moderator for r/QuestionableTattoos. Meanwhile, Doe’s opponent, a libertarian alpaca farmer, has seized the moment, distributing campaign flyers with the slogan “No Hate, Just Hay.”

As the scandal unfolds, Doe remains defiant, unveiling a new campaign mascot: a taxidermied ferret named Unity. “This ferret represents my commitment to sniffing out division,” Doe proclaimed, unaware that Unity was visibly shedding fur from stress. The Chronicle will continue to monitor this developing story, but one thing is clear: in the circus of politics, Doe’s license plate is the clown car that keeps on honking.