I Can’t Run for President
April 18th, 2008
I can’t run for president because of all my past relationships with all kinds of psychotic misfits , hippies, yippies, and acid soaked , freak flag flying ,Whole Earth Catalog , former -military gypsies.
I’ve been zapped by anesthesiologists , their faces wrapped in gauze. Plugged into a wall socket and given a few jolts that brought me Golden Consciousness and an on and off light switch of blinking reality that fed me well from here to Morocco and London’s SW1 night time neon racket.
I can’t put stuff like that in my presidential application form. I can’t say I spent a bagful of my life doing absolutely nothing. I can’t sell voters on the fact that in rush hour traffic in Phoenix Arizona in a broken down, overheated pile of retreaded rubber with burned out headlights , I drove into the sun with a beer between my legs. No license, no registration, no license plate. I drove glued to the rear view mirror and never paid my rent.
Can you imagine? What in hell could they go after me for? “ He lied when he said he was nuts?” The last politician who told the country he was nuts was bounced into an alternate universe by 4 o’clock the next morning.
How do these people grow up without doing anything most people do? How do I tell Tim Russert I puked as I drove my v8 two seat flying machine at a buck fifty while guzzling Jim Beam from the throttle? How do I tell him I ran around naked in the woods with other naked people and piled into a mescaline igloo at the end of a waterfall day in the sun?
How do I tell any of them that I can do all this while submerged 30 feet under the water, a quarter mile from the sand of an abandoned beach in Tobago?
I don’t.
I smile and point and wave at people off camera, say nothing about my past, and hope the lies hold up until after I’m elected. Then I can do what I want.
But don’t worry. I can’t run for president. And neither can you. Only abnormal people make it all the way to the top. And that’s something we can all worry about.