R. Collins Farquhar IV, Aristocrat and Scientist.
To the directionless American people.
As my most recent endeavor received little appreciation, it is my great delectation to announce my decision to devote my considerable talents to solving the world’s problems.George W. Bush is in the back pocket of large corporations in a time when there are only two corporations, Intel and Microsoft, who are worthy of any trust. John Kerry is in the back pocket of labor unions and other leftist organizations.
Matters such as war and the economy are best left to the aristocracy, and not to amateurs such as these men. And, being an aristocrat, I have adequate means to support myself for eight years, so I can work without the distraction of trying to tread water above the poverty level on a meager $200,000 salary.
Therefore I am running for president.
John Kerry says he will reduce U.S. dependency on foreign oil but he does not say how. This is because this is a popular idea to which he has given no thought. Some political consultant told him this is what the rabble wants to hear. As even a simpleton like my brother David knows, the way one reduces dependency on oil flowing in from countries that hate you is by increasing your dependency on oil flowing in from countries that do not. Alaska has oil. Alaska is not even a foreign country. Venezuela has oil. We already buy oil from Venezuela. We should keep doing that. Russia has oil. We have money. We need oil. Russia needs money.
I will not state the rest of the obvious.
Now let us tackle the difficult matter of war. Being of rich Scottish heritage, and being descended from warriors who nearly succeeded in overthrowing the King of England except for a minor technicality of being betrayed by the French, I know a few things about war. I know more than a few things about winning a war.
I suppose only an aristocrat would notice such things, but it is very appropriate that our troops wear green camouflage, for many of them are not battle-tested. This is part of the reason why we are not winning the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. It is painfully obvious to my aristocratic eyes that our troops need more seasoning before we send them off to fight in either of those two countries. Therefore, I propose we declare war on France in order to give our troops an opportunity to learn how to fight a war and gain confidence by absolutely trouncing an enemy. This trenchant and sonorous victory would give our troops confidence and rid us of a distraction. While routing the French army would not provide total preparation for facing the much better-trained guerrilla troops in Afghanistan and Iraq, it would certainly give them confidence, and confidence is 90% of everything.
The economy is easy to turn around. The aristocracy needs to spend more of its pin money. And when unemployment increases, the aristocracy needs to take on more manservants.
There remains but one problem, but hear me out, for I am going to turn that problem into a tremendous advantage: My age. The reports are true that I am but 29 years of age, which is well short of the 45-year requirement. However, I am in possession of an evil twin brother, who, incredibly, is also 29 years of age. Our combined age of 58 is well over the legal requirement. The advantage is that my brother, whom some consider more personable than myself, can take to matters that make presidents popular with the populace, such as jogging, drinking coffee at McDonald’s, looking at trains going around Christmas trees, signing books, making appearances at sporting events, dedicating libraries, granting interviews, and other such examples of woolgathering. He obviously will not know what is going on, but that is okay, because it will make this presidency appear peccant and naive, but such are the hallmarks of recent U.S. presidencies. Meanwhile, I can be tending to vade me*censored*presidential affairs, such as having my manservants bathe me, and then I can tend to a grueling 4-hour workday, whose tasks will include turning around the economy, bringing jobs back to the United States, and winning wars.
With an identical twin frolicking about the country acting as an aegis, it will be impossible at all times to know my whereabouts. So my misguided fans who like to give me fan letters soaked in alcohol and set on fire, or give me a 21-gun salute all by themselves, will not only have to get past the Secret Service, they first will have to figure out where I am. The additional Secret Service agents needed to protect two co-presidents will help the economy, offsetting some of the abstruce disadvantages of having such an ignoramus in such a prominent and redoubtable position.
My vice president, of course, will be none other than Jacques Pierre Cousteau Bouilliabaise le Raunche de la Stenche. He will, of course, be my main deipnosophist, and act as a fountain of yeasty jeremiads.
My time has come. My country needs me.
Not only do I appreciate your vote, I deserve it.