In a move that’s left political insiders choking on their pork roll sandwiches, the three Republican frontrunners for New Jersey governor—Jack Ciattarelli, Bill Spadea, and John Bramnick—have vowed to stop making their entire campaigns about who’s got the coziest selfie with Donald Trump.
The announcement, made over a tense diner breakfast in Trenton, comes after months of escalating Trump-worship that had voters wondering if the governor’s race was secretly an audition for a Mar-a-Lago reality show.
If you’re still here, you might have realized this is our annual April Fool’s Day story! This is a joke and the image above is of course, AI generated!
The trio’s pledge to “focus on the issues” has sparked a mix of disbelief and cautious optimism across the Garden State, where the campaign had devolved into a bizarre game of “Who’s Trumpier?”—complete with deepfake photos, radio rants, and enough red ties to outfit a MAGA convention.
Jack Ciattarelli, the 2021 gubernatorial runner-up who’s been flooding social media with Trump-adjacent content, kicked off the press conference with a solemn vow.
“I’m done posting endless pictures of me with the president,” he declared. “From now on, it’s all about New Jersey.”
Fact-checkers even found that the one with Ciattarelli sitting on Trump’s lap was a deepfake.
His team, meanwhile, was spotted late last night googling “issues that actually matter to New Jersey residents” ahead of his speech to the Women Over 50 Republicans for Trump, Lakehurst branch.
Bill Spadea, the bombastic radio host turned candidate, looked visibly shaken as he took the podium—literally, as his hands trembled from the shock of abandoning his Trump-centric playbook.
“Look, my entire speech is two things: how much I’ve supported Trump and how much Phil Murphy sucks,” Spadea admitted, sweat beading on his forehead. “There’s not much else to it. This ‘focusing on the issues’ thing is harder than you’d think. I mean, what am I supposed to talk about—roads? Taxes? I need a nap.”
John Bramnick, the state senator and self-styled comedian who’s carved out a niche as the “least Trump-obsessed” of the three, couldn’t hide his relief.
“I’m glad these two finally came to an understanding,” he said, sipping his coffee with a smirk. “To be honest, all the Trump-loving was worrying our campaign because I just can’t bring myself to do anything but acknowledge he could be… I mean is our president. Now maybe we can talk about something else—like my plan to fix NJ Transit with dad jokes and a prayer.”
The truce comes after a bruising primary season dominated by Trump proximity debates.
Kitchen Table Conservatives PAC, backed by Kellyanne Conway, bombarded airwaves with ads splicing years of Bill Spadea’s radio broadcasts into commercials culled from 20 years of radio rants.
Conway, caught off-guard by the pivot, admitted, “I’ll be honest, we never planned for this. We thought cutting and splicing Bill’s old shows was our ticket to November. Now what—do we talk about policy?”
The Trump obsession reached its peak last week when a grainy photo surfaced of Spadea high-fiving Trump at a Bedminster golf outing, only for Ciattarelli to counter with a signed “Jack & Don 4Ever” hat.
Bramnick, meanwhile, stayed above the fray, quipping, “I met Trump once, but I didn’t inhale.”
Voters are skeptical the ceasefire will hold. “They say they’re dropping the Trump talk, but I’ve seen this movie before,” said Tony Russo, a mechanic from Toms River. “One slip-up at a debate—‘Sleepy Jack’ or ‘Low-Energy Bill’—and we’re back to arguing over who’s got the better Trump handshake. I just want my potholes fixed.”
Additionally, the candidates also promised not to talk about each of their past comments against the President.
A copy of Ciattarelli’s speech found on the floor last night crossed out “Bill Spadea said Trump is a failure”, no less than thirteen times.
Political analyst Carmela “The Shark” Esposito agreed. “This lasts until the next Trump tweet—or whatever he’s posting on Truth Social these days,” she said. “These guys have spent months measuring their worth in Trump retweets. You don’t just flip that switch overnight.”
As the candidates left the diner—Ciattarelli in a Tesla, Spadea in a pickup with a huge American dlag, blaring his radio show, and Bramnick on foot with a stack of campaign flyers—the air was thick with uncertainty.
Ciattarelli promised a “new vision” for Jersey, Spadea muttered something about “maybe tolls are bad,” and Bramnick pitched a stand-up special to fund infrastructure. But with Trump’s shadow looming larger than the Ben Franklin Bridge, one question lingered: how long until the T-word slips back into the race?
In New Jersey, where politics is a contact sport and loyalty is measured in photo ops, the smart money’s on “not long at all.”
