My fellow Americans, I have pretty
much made up my mind to run for president. And I have concluded, after careful and thoughtful consideration, that this country
wants to elect a man who cannot be impugned, blackmailed or vilified because of prior indiscretions or lapses in judgment.
My reasoning is as follows: If I open my personal closet of skeletons and allow the bones to be inspected and turned about
ahead of time, any attempt by my enemies to root about my biography with malevolent intentions will prove futile. Therefore,
what follows is a candid enumeration of my checkered and sordid past.
I once made love to a bulldog named Stretch behind a Popeye’s
Chicken in the San Gabriel Valley. Contrary to tabloid speculation, the episode was consensual and neither party was injured.
Shortly thereafter, I tongue kissed, very briefly, a sea lion at a water zoo in Cuba. It is important to note that these were
the only occasions in which I had romantic relations with animals, wild or domestic. In the fall of 1990, I exchanged knowing
glances with a neighbor’s horse, but nothing came of it. While I was doing consulting work for the Klan back in the
80’s, I quarreled with a blind colleague of mine and beat her senseless with her own prosthetic leg. After the beating,
I drowned her lifeless corpse in keratin and dropped a restaurant match on her head. The chemical dissonance produced a small
fire that seemed to swell as I urinated upon it. I still have the prosthetic leg. It hangs above my mantle and smells vaguely
of cannon powder. Once in awhile, my mistress and I fill the leg with Boone’s Farm and swap shots while we play cards
and trade homo jokes.
I’ve fathered sixteen or twenty children out of wedlock and haven’t claimed any of the little
fuckers. The oldest boy tried to call me last summer but I feigned a Spanish accent and mumbled something about a wrong number.
One of the girls has a lazy eye that is usually pointing towards Ohio. For her tenth birthday, I mailed her a picture of herself
and circled the crooked eye with a red magic marker. Every now and again, I’ll send one of the bastards a picture of
me riding naked on a tandem bike. A few weeks ago, I pilfered a fleet of wheelchairs from a low-income old folk’s home
outside of Mesa. Afterwards, I traded one of the chairs for a ceramic Hitler mask and sold the rest for meth money. I spent
the next several days at a local strip mall, goosing teenagers on an escalator, stoned off my head.
To the best of my recollection, the
aforementioned events represent the most scandalous in my past. There are lesser offenses – fellating a mannequin, stripping
for uncooked food, orchestrating a donkey show – that happened so long ago and were so entirely innocent that any elaboration
in this missive would waste both my time and yours.
Therefore, I present myself to you as a man of unique probity and
uncommon veracity. I trust that you, the voters, will recognize me as such and entrust me with this most solemn responsibility.
May
God bless you.
May God bless America.
