My friends, we live in troubled and difficult times. What with the rise of violence in Iraq, concern over the environment, and reality television shows, the time has come for us, as a people – one unified voice – to blame George W. Bush for every major international disaster since the Vikings burnt down most of western Europe. Often portrayed as an incompetent, drooling, tactical moron, Mr. Bush has, as you are well aware, been president of the United States of America for the past six years, and it is now the time for him to graciously step down from his supreme position because everybody on the face of the planet, including undiscovered species of insects evolving in Donald Trump’s hair, hates him.

Therefore, I am formally announcing that I have launched a Presidential Exploratory Committee, which I will set to work just as soon as I figure out what it’s for. That’s right, America: I’m in!

I can see from the 24-hour news broadcasts that my main competitor is going to be either Barack Obama, a black guy, or Hillary Clinton, a tramp. At this stage it doesn’t really matter who the Republicans put up. Unless they nominated an illegally immigrated transsexual space alien, they, as far as most analysts are concerned, don’t stand a chance. To that end, it might be worthwhile for the Republicans to put up a “joke candidate”. For example, they could nominate a ventriloquist dummy, which would answer important questions concerning the state of the environment whilst his running mate sat next to him drinking a glass of water. Or, they could decide to put up nobody at all. The only problem with this is that they would win, and this could in turn cause a great deal of embarrassing international situations, such as when, for example, the diplomat of a small impoverished country flies thousands of miles to a Washington press conference to shake hands with himself.

I can see that if I’m going to win over the American public, I am going to have to approach this campaign much more differently than Clinton or Obama. I can’t just be an interspatial write-in candidate with bigoted views and an unhealthy obsession with Barbie’s friend Ken: I have to be a caring family man with bigoted views and an unhealthy obsession with Barbie’s new friend, Lance. (I know I said Ken before, but he’s stopped returning my calls.) So, in an effort to better appeal to you, the public, I have finally gotten a family of my own.

 

 

Meet the Greenburgs, the average American family.

The father, David Greenburg, is a used car salesman whom I purchased from the IRS during a particularly tricky audit. Mr. Greenburg often asks himself rhetorically how this could possibly have happened, but alas I do not have the heart to tell him that the transportation of a dead budgie in a company car does not count as a business expense. Sadly, his wife died six years ago in a freak shopping cart accident, so lugging her around doesn’t count, either.

His son, Michael, is a star athlete and aspires, someday, to be the world’s deepest shade of the colour green. You may be concerned about this, which means that you are a woman. Whenever you feel the slightest bit of concern for this aspiring athlete, just push it deep down inside your subconscious by reminding yourself that if professional football players didn’t do drugs, football wouldn’t be the pointlessly barbaric sport it is today.

His daughter, Danielle, is 14 and currently awaiting the birth of her second child. Over the past six years she has slowly expanded to the size of a small weather balloon, and currently eats at least five Big Macs a day when she hangs out at the mall with her friends or her attractive, slightly butch boyfriend, who clearly must all this time have been experiencing some sort of problem with his contact lenses.

Yes, I have gotten closer to the typical American family, which is more than can be said for Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama, neither of whom have even attempted to illegally purchase other people. This is a special gift I extend to you, the voters, that ensures that I will never fall out of touch with the common needs and concerns of the American public, although I may want to adopt a Chinese daughter just in case.

I have a whole lot of similar tactics in store for the countdown to November 2008, and I just know that the American people will Vote Vermin this time round. So vote for the weasel, my friends, because You Know What You Will Get! Trust me, it’s several times better than what you’ll get if you don’t vote for me.

Welcome to another election, America!