Touche, Edwards. Well played.
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.