I'm Unelectable*

In 1984, I ran for 8th Grade Class President. I gave a speech to a gymnasium full of disinterested, pubescent ingrates (i.e. juvenile boys with an overflow of testosterone--those viscous men-in-waitings, sprouting Teutonic Forests of public hair: pimply half-guys clad in French Foreign Legion hats and Member's Only jackets with one-track minds about confused fumblings in dark bedrooms with sticky magazines and copious wads of toilet paper). I started the speech like Mark Anthony's in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. I waved my hands from side to side, doing my very best at horrid melodrama. The room went momentarily silent, but about three campaign promises into this disastrous speech, spitballs and heckling began to fly. I stepped down from the dais, holding back tears and subsequently received a whopping 19 votes in the election. The council of elders felt sorry for me and so they made me an 'Unelected Representative' that next year. I got to hang out with the popular folks early in the mornings, when 'student council' convened; I got to consult Robert's Rules of Order like the golden children did. I was one of them, but not really. They were popular: I was a hanging chad. I never 'ran' for any office since then. (I was elected as my high school's Senior Class Treasurer, but that didn't count because the campaign was orchestrated by my mom and my best friend while I was living as a Swiss expat. with my host father, Jurg and his merry band of 12-monkey ecoterrorists. They used a picture of me running in some Zuerich Silvesterlauf 10K as my campaign poster: get it?) Morals of the story: Don't run for anything; if you have to, don't have anything to do with it and have someone else tell the masses who you are, using running as a theme. (Also don't lecture pedantically like a plotting Roman to a stinky slice of idiot America. The simians wanted fart noises and hot teacher upskirt views, not Heston-like melodrama. ) I just don't do well in populist democracies; I thrive instead in tyrannical juntas and cabals. I like revolutions with megalomaniacs standing from atop their bullypulpits, casting down bombast, inciting the masses of nach0-fed cattle to burn down the walls of their neighboring McMansions and storm North Disgrace's Bastille--crying for the overthrow of the vain celebrity runners, pleading the unsuspecting Walter Middies to put an end to this unjust ancien' regime. So I don't think I'm going to Kenya because I'm no democratic politician; I wear no campaign buttons and don't part my Trent Lott-meets-BillyBobFrist-helmethair to the side ; I have no 'har hars' and can't pump a fist; I'm not out to fill my resume up with me-me charitable acts. I can't be a superterrific champion of superhero fakeness. I offer few encomiums; I'm the furthest thing from Harvard's final list of kickass-n'save-the-world candidates. I'm too ugly and too mean for a reality show casting call. I'm can't even smile straight: I'm doubting while I'm doing it, because it never lasts. Don't vote for me. I despise popularity and consider myself completely unelectable; I offer no rubber chicken to put into your pot. All I've got is what you read. ------------------------- Google it; please don't click on the first thing that comes up or else the NSA Gestapo and their Army-equivalent cover-for-status, shadyboy bretheren will come back to read up on me.