Why I’d be an Epic President
Or “Why The American People Should Make this Terribly Ill-Informed Decision to Elect a Complete Jackass (How is this a New Concept Again?)”, whichever you’d prefer. Now, I weighed the pros and cons of writing a meaningful, well-thought President’s Day post, even if I’m a couple days late. Then I realized it was just another one of those holidays that gave you ungrateful bastards three day weekends while I spend quality time in college, accruing debt and laughing at drunk people as they make poor decisions. I mean, seriously, who needs alcohol to make poor decisions anymore? Not this guy.
Instead of writing a long-ass post about how every president you know and love is a lying, thieving no-good-son-of-a-bitch (Eat your hearts out, you Fox News junkies), this will be a medium-length post on why I would be an amazing president (up until anyone with any sense of responsibility, duty, morals, or sanity throws me off the Whitehouse).
The First Family will be the First Family of the United States of Awesome. I’m not bogged down by a wife, children, or any pesky mistresses like most of these political types. When I go out in public it will be with my inner circle comprised of cyborg bodyguards, ninjas, and the first dog will be a genetically modified wolverine that breathes fire. Why? Because people won’t think, “Oh, there’s the Pres and his family taking a pleasant stroll” as I go by and every member of the Secret Service loses their goddamn mind over where I may or may not be. Oh, no. People will piss their pants. Hail to the chief, fools.
Republican or Democrat? Or this guy. You can take those two parties and combine them in whatever way makes you vote for me. Reublicrat? Sure, why not. Third party? Let me level with you: nobody you guys ever try getting in office will get anywhere. I mean, except for Ralph Nader, and that’s in the “he’s only getting closer to the grave” way.
Pundits aren’t above pandering. News pundits have a pretty solid following. Just look at that Jon Stewart guy, that Stephen Colbert fellow, and whatever the hell Glenn Beck is*. Droves of people who hang on their every word. My solution? I won’t be above pandering to the American people. Sure, that may mean one or two…or twelve fart jokes thrown in a state of the union, but I’m willing to go the distance**.
I’ll be a President of the people. I’ll show it through bitchin’ photographic evidence. Me helping bring peace to the Middle East? Facebooked. Mr. President Gorski (the new title will be Mr. President the Revered and Almighty, by the way; memorize it, people, because there will be a quiz later) helping to bring jobs to the jobless? Check out my Twitter. That hunting trip that Dick Cheney and Rush Limbaugh invited me on? Sorry, guys, had a prior engagement, but you’ll all be happy to know that my Vice President only sustained minor injuries; nothing that couldn’t be fixed with Silly Putty and 100 proof whiskey.
Promises are meant to be kept. I won’t make promises I know I can’t keep. Sure, everyone wants world peace, an end to famine, an end to major diseases, and other things of that nature. I could take to the podium and say, “Hey, I’m going to fix everything ever.” Can I? Hell no. What do you people think I am, some sort of miracle-worker? I’ll be that realistic friend that helps the American people accept that, sure, you couldn’t make it into Harvard, but at least you didn’t get stuck going to Community College. I may not bring an end to war, but I sure as hell won’t have a problem sending everyone to that Harry Potter addition to Disney on China’s dime. I figure if we’re not so far into debt to China by the end of my presidency that everyone’s living in soup cans and driving mouse-drawn chariots, I’ve done something wrong.
Presidents have some defining characteristic. I’ll be upping the ante by one-upping all of those dead bastards. Sure, some of them never lied, some of them chopped down cherry trees, and some of them were pretty keen on breaking and entering or magical podiums. Cutting down cherry trees? I’ll cut down a forest with a plasma torch while robed in Smokey the Bear’s pelt. Never lying? Wouldn’t you like to know. Paul Ekman will be hired on and paid a quarter every time I spout a line of utter garbage. By this reasoning, Dr. Ekman will be the richest man alive by my second day in office. Good luck writing catchy folk-songs about my presidential antics, fools.
Rest easy knowing I would never consider even contemplating going into politics. I have more than enough fun writing fiction without the threat of being called a communist-fascist-socialist-whatever.
* Years and years in the future, scholars will still be pondering this mystery of life.
** Note to self: replace my speech writers with the writers from various Adult Swim shows to better serve these purposes.
