I recently received a widespread outpouring of mail from a person named Jeffrey Alexander in Cincinnati, urging me to run for president. And although my usual policy is to avoid any activity that requires socks, in this case I am seriously thinking of making an exception. Because I happen to believe there is a great deal I could accomplish as leader of the Free World, particularly in the area of motorcades. That would be the Central Theme of my campaign:
I would do most of my motorcading in the company of my entourage. It would be a large entourage, an entourage the nation could be proud of, and it would consist mostly of high-level national security advisers appointed on the basis of having gone to high school with me. Several times a week we would all pile onto Air Force One and fly to a randomly selected city, where the police would use barricades to snarl rush-hour traffic so we could race through the streets with sirens blaring at speeds approaching 100 miles per hour in a circular route that would take us, without stopping, right back to the airport, where we'd pile back on Air Force One and fly back to Washington.
But I would not devote my entire presidency to motorcading. No indeed, for I would also have policies. Here they are:
I would make it my highest legislative priority to have helium declared the National Element.
Whenever I entered the room at formal state functions, the band would be instructed to play: "My Baby Does the Hanky-Panky."
I would agree to a Summit Meeting with Soviet Premier Mikhail Gorbachev, at which I would make a dramatic three-hour presentation, using flip charts, of the benefits of becoming an Amway distributor.
Wherever I went, there would be a burly Secret Service man just a few feet away, and on his wrist would be a handcuff, which would be attached to a steel chain, which would be attached to a locked black briefcase, and inside that briefcase would be: a harmonica.
The cornerstone of my foreign policy would be playing pranks on France.
I would invite James Brown and his Famous Flames to perform at the White House. Not just once. Every night. They would live there. Congress would constantly be passing Joint Resolutions urging the Executive Branch to keep the volume down.
The guest list at state dinners would consist almost exclusively of attractive part-time models who had been told by my entourage that if they played their cards right, they could get appointed secretary of agriculture.
Which brings us to the Character Issue. This is definitely one of my strongest points, because I can make a statement that no other presidential candidate, declared or undeclared, can make: I work for The Miami Herald. That's right: I work for the same newspaper that broke the story about Gary Hart engaging in explicit late-night campaign strategy discussions with politically active part-time model Donna Rice; the newspaper whose current promotional slogan is: "We Know Where You Live."
Here's the thing: There is no way The Herald's crack surveillance team could ever catch me doing anything improper, because I know what they look like. This would be another Central Theme of my campaign:
A Man Who Recognizes Miami
Herald Reporters on Sight
Inspirational? Visionary? You bet I am. But it will take more than words like these to elect me president. It will also take the help of "little people" like yourself, the decent, hard-working, ordinary, average, everyday lowlife scum who are the spinal cord of the political process. I am not asking that you stuff envelopes or go around with petitions. All I am asking is that you sell your home and send me the money. Because quite frankly we are already seeing some unexpectedly high campaign expenses, mostly related to the horses getting loose on the yacht.