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).

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)!