I was shocked this week when I heard John and Elizabeth Edwards’ announcement about her inoperable breast cancer. It was truly heartbreaking, and I extend my solemn condolences. In a way though, it was also very inspirational. The sheer strength that Elizabeth is demonstrating is truly breathtaking, and it really serves as a reminder of what dignity the human animal is capable of in the most dire of circumstances. I was also struck by the singular nature of the Edwards’ relationship. It is so wonderful that she would be willing to die of cancer to get her husband elected President. And I’m not trying to sell Mr. Edwards short, either. His dedication to the acquisition of power is impressive. When placed in that position, a weaker man would want to spend each fleeting remaining day with his wife. What Avarice! He will prove a formidable opponent!

Unfortunately, my wife Peggy doesn’t quite seem to have the level of dedication to my dreams that Mrs. Edwards has to her husband’s. Not only has Peggy not developed cancer in any part of her body, but she has also been unable to contract any other sort of life threatening disease. She did complain about a sore throat about a week ago, but that certainly isn’t going to earn me the pity vote with the Edwards’ out there cancering it up, and she stopped complaining about that about five days ago, so it’s probably not turning into anything. Basically, I’m starting to feel a bit like I’m not getting the support I need, so I decided to confront her about it.

I guess you could describe her reaction as “turbo-pissed,” and during our exchange, she said a few nasty things. Of course, the first tactic she tried was to turn it around and make it all about her. Typical. Then she called me an a-hole. Also typical. Then she told me that what I was saying didn’t even make sense, that a person cannot control whether or not they get sick, and that even if a person could, asking her to do that was beyond selfish. Way typical. She was menstruating though, so I’m sure she’ll apologize later after she comes down off her rag-rage (I’ll get into a more detailed menstruation discussion in another post).

In the meantime, I thought I would at least get some plans together so that when she’s more receptive, we’ll have an actionable plan. I didn’t even consider cancer, since it’s been done, so I started thinking about other, more dramatic afflictions, and narrowed it down to four: 1. Parkinson’s. This one has done wonders for Michael J. Fox and so I think it will work for Peggy too. It has the advantage of being embarrassingly visible, and will therefore make everyone exceedingly uncomfortable. 2. Alzheimer’s. Everyone agrees that this one is really sad (sad=votes), and it has the added benefit of a very public “Where’s Peggy” crisis event. You know, we drop her off somewhere, pretend she wandered off, wait a week or so until someone finds her. We could even give him (or her) a prize or something; maybe one of those coupon books that high school football teams give out. 3. Tourette’s. This one is also very obvious, and it is possible that I could have her blurt out attacks on my opponents without my having to take responsibility for them. The drawback is that this affliction is sometimes more funny than it is sad, and I’m not sure if the comedy vote will completely offset the pity vote. 4. Rectovaginal Fistula. I can’t describe this one without vomiting, so look it up. It’s pretty bad, and would definitely get attention. The only concern is that I could open myself up to accidentally committing sodomy.

I’ve also considered that she may not reconsider her initial refusal to help my career through personal sacrifice. In this case, I’ve considered some other options. I could have Wolf t-bone her car while she drives to the store one day; try to quad her out or something. I’d have to make sure she is driving her Lexus at the time, though, because if she took my Buick, she’d probably be completely unhurt. That’s just the nature of the brand.

I also have to consider the fact that she is, perhaps, right. Maybe I am being selfish, trying to find a way to maim or kill her simply to get people to vote for me. Perhaps I ought to rely on my principles, personality, limber rhetoric, and intense wealth to get elected rather than cheap gimmicks. We’ll see what Peggy says after her uterus chills out a bit. But if I turn on the news tomorrow, and Mitt Romney’s wife has the female genitalia on her face, the gloves are going to come off, son. Mark my words.

It’s time to hit the road and spread the Word to every Joe Schmo, John Q. Public, and Paddy O’Averagedipshit out there in this great land of ours. A Presidential Candidate, however, doesn’t just jump into his trusty Buick and switch on the cruise control. No, citizens, it takes a very special vehicle to help me and my crew get the message out there, and I just picked it up today. Let me backtrack for a sec. When it came time to plan this little trip, Anselmo suggested we purchase a bus. Real original there buddy. We all remember John McCain’s “Straight-Talk Express,” don’t we? “Express to where?” you might ask. In McCain’s case, apparently straight to mediocreburg. No, for this campaign, we needed something special.

I suggested a train, but Anselmo squashed that one. Apparently trains only travel on tracks, which means no Stuckey’s, and that’s a no-go. When I’m on a trip, I can only use the bathroom at Stuckey’s (don’t ask). Then, I placed an order for the “Doublespeak Doublewide,” which I thought would be a wonderful way not only to travel in style, but also to connect with a lot of the poor people in the world, who I hear live in doublewide trailers. And I don’t blame them, because they’re pretty nice: it had a well appointed wine cellar, a screening room, and a golden toilet. Unfortunately, when Anselmo and I showed up to drive it away, they told me the damn thing wasn’t street legal. What a kick in the ass! The damn thing didn’t even have an engine in it. I sent it over to one of Peggy’s hillbilly cousins to live in, but I kept the toilet.

Then I figured it out: blimp. That’ll really get their attention, I thought. So I called a blimp company and commissioned one. I just approved the final designs this morning, and let me tell you, she’s a beaut. Her name is “The Truthenburg Zeppelin,” but she’s not going to be ready until January, which kind of sucks. What to do until then? Well, luckily the guy who is building her also happens to be into hot-air ballooning, so offered to sell me one of his finest specimens. Yes, folks, the Hot-Air Express is ready to fly!



Needless to say, I was pretty psyched. As you can see, she’s a beaut. I outfitted her with a wide variety of amenities, including sandbags and a wicker gondola. There’s enough room for Anselmo and myself, as well as a small cooler and a suitcase. It’s cozy, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. After all, it’s freezing up there, so on long cross-country trips Anselmo and I will want to huddle up anyway. The only drawback that I can see is wind. My engagements will need to be planned a little more carefully, and be subject to change at a moments notice. I’ll leave all of that up to Pepper. Get ready, nation, the Rich White message of changeful hope is about to take to the skies!

Good morning citizens. Well, I’ve been running for President now for a couple of weeks, and I’ve got to say: I like it. The food’s good, you get to see the country, and there’s always somebody around telling you how great they think you are. Needless to say, that kind of stuff is right up my alley. This is more than just a sweet-ass road trip, though; I’m here to win the presidency. And to win you need a strategy, which is something we talk a lot about here at Camp White. According to Anselmo, in order to really have a good shot at winning, you have to be involved with what is called a “political party.” Most candidates even link up with a party before running for President. There are actually quite a few of these parties out there, but there are only two that you really ever hear about: Democrats and Republicans. In the coming weeks, the Rich White campaign will implement strategies angling to secure the support of one of the organizations.

To be honest, I was confused when Anselmo first made it clear to me that this move was necessary. After all, everybody knows that “political parties” are just a contrivance created by the the media wing of the global corporate banking interests, the sole purpose of which is to divert the public’s attention through the pleasant irrelevance of sports-style conflict, while the individuals who really control things manufacture conflicts and solidify their iron grip on world civilization, all without the inconvenient fetters of public oversight and accountability. In fact, as Anselmo pointed out to me, everyone does not know this, and therefore puts great importance on party affiliation. In fact, before choosing a candidate voters will typically require that he be affiliated with their favorite party. If you’ve seen a football game (or the illiterate cretins who watch that sort of thing), then you know what I’m talking about.

First, let me tell you a bit about these Parties. The Democrats are mostly poor, well-educated, elderly, jewish, black lesbians who work as trial lawyers, and who spend their free time accepting free handouts and having anonymous sex with multiple partners. They are characterized by their fiscal sloppiness, marijuana addition, and tendency to complain and blame other people for their problems. In principle, they support an all-powerful central government that pays every American citizen to pursue mediocrity, letting everybody out of prison, the abolition of private property, and punishing terrorists by tickling and hugging them to death. They also advocate letting anyone who feels like it just mosey on over the border, which provides a source of cheap votes. They are very open-minded, provided that you agree with them, and they are staunch supporters of the Bill of Rights (except for the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th, and 10th amendments).

The Republicans are completely different from the Democrats. Their constituents are primarily uneducated, affluent, white, male religious fanatics from rural areas who work in executive corporate positions, and who spend their free time randomly discharging weapons and passing judgment on things they are too intellectually lazy to understand. Republicans are characterized by their fiscal sloppiness, alcohol addiction, and tendency to complain and blame other people for their problems. In principle, they support an all-powerful central government that pays every American citizen to join the Army, putting everybody in prison, the privatization of the human soul, and punishing possible terrorists by blowing up the women and children that stand near them. They also advocate letting anyone who feels like it just mosey on over the border, which provides a source of cheap labor. They are very open-minded, provided that you agree with them, and they are staunch supporters of the Bill of Rights (except for the 1st, 4th, 5th, 6th, and 9th amendments).

Since the Democrats are a bunch of pushovers, I thought I’d try them first. I called Howard Dean, and told him what I was all about. He suggested we get together and chat, so we met at a Burger King at exit 48 near Proctorsville. Over a couple of Buffalo Tendercrisps, I explained that I was interested in becoming President, and that I hoped he could help make that happen. While he seemed interested, I couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t giving me his full attention. He kept barking and chortling randomly, and suspect he has been stricken with Tourette’s. He asked me what I thought about the “issues.” I told him that I thought the same thing as him about the issues. “Be more specific,” he said, and I knew I was in trouble. I don’t really do specificity because I find it limiting. I explained this to Dean, but he didn’t respond. He was making a very low whining sound and spit bubbles were forming at the corners of his mouth. Suddenly he jumped up, a fire in his eyes and his fist pumping wildly. “Waah. YAAAHH!” And then he was gone. Needless to say, I was pissed. I bought that douche a Tendercrisp, and he didn’t even finish it.

Things didn’t go any better with Mike Duncan, the chairman of the Republican Party. His secretary kept putting my secretary off, so I had to come up with some other way to reach him. It just so happens that we’re both members of the same Gentleman’s Club, so I figured I’d just “bump into him” and schmooze a little. One evening, as I entered the club, I noticed him sitting in a corner. I grabbed two brandy’s from Clive, the barman, and approached Duncan with my offering. I introduced myself and offered him the glass. I started to explain what I was trying to do, but he seemed a little annoyed. Eventually, he told me to leave him alone and that he would talk to me later about it. I hoped he would come talk to me after the lapdance, but he just kept paying for more songs. I took the hint.

Out of desperation, I tried to call the Libertarians, but it seems their phone had been disconnected. I emailed them, but the dude who called me back sounded stoned. I pretended I was losing cell reception, and then hung up on him. I wasn’t too into that route anyway. They are pretty insignificant and besides, their preoccupation with freedom makes me uneasy. People tend to do whatever they want when you give them freedom. I didn’t even bother calling the Communists, since they’re just Democrats with an unpopular name. The Anarchists sounded good, but they don’t tend to run for office, so SOL on that one. My only shot at success, it seems, was to link up with the big boys, and they didn’t seem to want anything to do with me.

Needless to say, I was pretty down at this point. But then Anselmo told me a little story about the architect of the bloodiest war in American History, Abraham Lincoln. We all know that he was considered one of the ugliest presidents in history, but he wasn’t always as successful as he was in his later life. It seems that, before he was elected president, he met with a few challenges. First, his business failed when it turned out that nobody wanted to buy stupid tiny notched logs. Then he lost eight different elections for various positions, including the post of Neighborhood Association Historian. On top of everything, he was a convicted rapist. At first, I didn’t realize what Anselmo was getting at. Then I looked into the deep black pools of his eyes, and from them I drew an inexplicable strength. I will not and can not give up. I take heart in the knowledge that the primaries are a good nine months away, allowing me plenty of time to wrangle up a party affiliation. Like Lincoln, I too will eventually reach my goal through dogged perseverance, although I will not have my head blown off by an actor (I’ve got my eye on you Clooney).