When a man decides to run for office, there is a question he must ask himself before all others. A question more important than choosing which friends to hire when he wins; more basic than determining which of his principles he will compromise first. It is a question, the answer to which will forever determine the scope and reach of his political career. I am speaking, of course, of tie color. Perhaps it seems like a straightforward or even insignificant decision. You might think that decisions on platform or strategies for image management must trump seemingly irrelevant factors like tie color. That is why you will never be president.

Structuralist critic Roland Barthes called the tie “The dangling member of the political beast.” Member indeed. It has been with us since the beginning of time, and will be with us forever more. Some are long and skinny. Others think that it is the girth that counts. Any way you slice it there are choices to be made. Color? Simple: red or blue. But Rich, don’t they make other color ties? Only chumps and wannabes wear those other colors. Blue or Red, case closed. Actually, that’s really the only choice to make All of the other variables are dictated by other things. Tie material? Silk. Tie knot? Depends on your collar. But nonetheless, the color decision is what we’re discussing here.

Let’s look at how some great men other than myself have used ties to their advantage, and how some hopeless losers chose more poorly. For instance, it is common knowledge that Ronald Reagan always wore a red tie, but did you know that Jimmy Carter wore a red tie too? This illustrates the complexity of the problem, since the very tie color that propelled Reagan to such dizzying heights was also the source of the catastrophically colossal failure that was Carter’s career and life. What’s that you say? Carter got the peace prize? I think we all know that prize really just means you’re a pansy.

So you say, what about Roosevelt, Rich? He was a bad-ass President, what color tie did he wear? Trick question, bucko; his tie was gray. That used to be the only choice.

Another interesting tidbit: Gerald Ford ran for county commissioner six times wearing red ties. He only became President only because Nixon got assassinated. He never could have won anything with that red tie.

There are also cautionary tales, of course. Some folks don’t pay attention to the rules, and think they could do something crazy and wear some other kind of tie. Anyone remember the Lesko Administration? Trust me, you’re better off.

You might think that my beliefs about the power of the tie are a bit sexist. How, you might be wondering, does a woman display her prowess when in competition for a political office. Two words: pearl necklace.

But if you’re talking blue ties, you’re talking Bush country. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Even if nobody likes either of those douchebags, they still got to be president, and that’s the important thing. Tie color can only win you the presidency, it can’t help you keep it.

Now that I’ve made clear the magnitude of this decision, you’ll understand why I’m a bit reluctant to commit myself. I waver back and forth from hour to hour. To be honest, I’ve only worn fish-print ties my entire life (great conversation starter), so I had to have Anselmo bring me one red and one blue tie. I try them on secretly in my room, while sitting at my dressing table. At first I was taken with the blue one. It brings out a certain steelyness in my eyes, and says to your opponents, I’m cold as ice, biznitch. But then I thought a bit about the red one. When you speak while wearing it, I think there is a subliminal image of blood streaming from your mouth and down your chest, as if from a fresh kill. That imagery is not to be underestimated.

Anselmo is, of course, no help at all. He merely sips his tea quietly, the ghost of a smile perched upon his thin lips, while I model them in turn. To be perfectly frank, this is perhaps the most difficult decision of my life, much harder than my decision to turn off Mom’s breathing machine. But when I get really down, and start to feel as if I’ll never be able to choose, I remember Sophie, and the choice she had to make. It was an important one, like mine, and she too had difficulty and great tribulation leading up to her decision. I take heart in the belief that, like Sophie, I too will be happy in the end.

Well, Americans, it looks like you’ll finally have a reason to hit the polls next October. Yes, folks, today my faithful assistant (and now Campaign manager) Anselmo called some people and did the necessary footwork. Long story short: I’m accepting donations! While embarking on a presidential campaign is undoubtedly the most daunting task I have yet faced, I face it armed with the same tools that have given me an advantage all of my life: lots of money, and a very little melanin. To explain, let me tell you the story of how I first realized that I ought to run for president in the first place.

I looked in the mirror the other day, and noticed something about myself that I hadn’t noticed before. I mean, sure, I guess I had always known I was white, but these days, you spend so much time trying not to see the color of a person’s skin, you forget what color yours is! Anyway, noticing this simple fact got me thinking. I have a lot of ideas, and I like free trips, so I called my accountant. He confirmed my expectations: I’m very rich. Combined with my skin color, that makes me a political dynamo! People like me have had this nation on lockdown since it’s inception. I’m a shoe in!

My maid, Consuela, thinks I’m crazy. She says that I have no experience with politics and that my elevated position isolates me from the experience of the common American, and therefore undermines my ability to adequately represent all but a small minority at the top of the income gradient. Furthermore, she asserts that my vast network of alliances and contacts in the business world may prove an encumbrance later on, as I find myself beholden to their interests over those of the electorate. She’s not from here, so I forgive her for her ignorance. Besides, I don’t take advice from someone who works for two bucks an hour. You don’t need a Political Science degree to shake somebody’s hand, you just need a hand. Plus, I went to Yale (so my grandad was rich too, in your face Edwards!).

My next call was to my contact in the Freemasons. I won’t name him (but you know who he is), and he assured me that, since they had not yet decided who the next President would be, and since I am a member in good standing, I would be considered for the position at the next convocation of the Death’s Head Council. That means that the whole burrito is basically in the bag, so I grabbed Anselmo and said: “Road Trip!” He’s getting everything ready for the ol’ campaign trail.

I made another call, this time to my PR firm. They seemed pretty psyched about doing some demographics studies and giving me a few talking points. I don’t plan on opening my mouth unless I’m damn sure people are going to like what comes out of it. My lawyer called me at that point, and I asked him to get me a copy of the Constitution. Apparently that has some good stuff in it (it did seem a bit long, so I’m having Anselmo read it). Then I called my accountant back and asked him to get creative on some fundraising options. He suggested I call some of my friends in the media to try and get a little help in the BNR department (biased news reporting), since that way I can get around some of those pesky campaign finance regulations. Sure, a few dozen dummy corporations and offshore accounts will have to be set up, but no worries. I’ve never been one to shy away from a hard day’s paperwork. Or at least my secretary hasn’t.

Well, it’s time to start strategizing, so I’d better get to it. I have enlisted Anselmo BelGrande, my talented friend and confidante, as my campaign manager, and he has some big things in mind. Before I go, though, I want to express my sincere gratitude for all of the help and words of encouragement I have received since I began contemplating this endeavor. Without the support of you, the really, really, tiny little people, people like me wouldn’t have something soft separating us from the ground.

Fellow Americans. At 2:30 PM EST, my close personal friend and advisor Anselmo BelGrande filed, on my behalf, papers with the Federal Election Commission to establish a presidential exploratory committee. I am perhaps as surprised as anyone to find myself contemplating a bid for the highest office in the land. And let me tell you, should I run and be elected, the first thing I’m going to do is abolish all of this “exploratory committee” business. The paperwork is grueling, I’m told. I was up all night firing people to get the thing to press by noon!

Anyway, I was speaking of my surprise at the thought of running for president. Had someone approached me two years ago and told me I would be forming a committee of this magnitude, I would have laughed. These last few months, however, I have listened to voices of our citizens in towns across this great country of ours, from Alexandria to Manassas, and one thing is clear: the nation is ready for a change. A presidential change, I mean. It’s mandated by the Constitution, you know. Every four years, and all that. And I don’t think Bush is popular enough to win again, so somebody’s going to need to step up, right?

To begin a metaphor which I will clumsily belabor and soon overextend, I feel as if we, the American people, now walk a path between two gleaming rails, extending hither and thither into infinity. Days and nights shrink uneventfully into obscurity, and yet no train ever passes. Nevertheless, we walk, never sure if we are moving toward some great good or to some fearsome evil. Desperately, we hope for a sign, lest we walk further in the wrong direction. Perhaps I am the one to take a knee and press my ear against the cold metal of the tracks in hopes that I might find the way forward.

Did that make any sense? I’m afraid it was unclear, since putting my ear to the tracks wouldn’t help determine which way was forward. And besides, there isn’t really a “forward” on train tracks, since trains go both ways on them. Let me do it over, this time with ships. I have a great one that uses ships, and I’m a sort of astrolabe (these are old ships I’m talking about). Never mind, I’m being told to move on.

Anyway, to put it in very literal terms, I’ve been told by people across this great land (mainly my handlers who follow me everywhere I go to protect me from the public) that I have an excellent chance of winning a presidential election. I want to reiterate, though, that I am not yet actually running for president. I’m only forming an exploratory committee to determine when I should announce my actual candidacy. I’ll be in touch. Power to the people (specifically, me)!