Pre-empting the inevitable onslaught of scandal and slander...
As a candidate for Congress, I feel I must be utterly transparent. I owe it to the voters to present myself as honestly as possible. This is not just because pollsters have found that people like “honesty” and “integrity” and all that crap, it’s because I worry that one of my evil foes–the depraved and strange-haired Gil Gooooootknicker, perhaps–might scour my past and find something that could be made into a negative campaign ad. That would be embarrassing. It might also make my mother cry. Some of you might find it hard to believe that Gil the Shrill would want Mama M. to weep for her son’s dignity, but I’m afraid that’s just politics today. I’m sharper than Gil, though. Of course, a hammer is sharper than Gil. So is a quilt. And a bushel of apples. But I didn’t come here to “talk smack” as the delightful young people say these days. I came here to share with you all my possible scandals, both to edify you and to take the wind out of the sails of all my feeble and screechy opponents.
1) I once killed a man. Even worse, it was the wrong man. My attorney has urged me to be circumspect when discussing details of this unfortunate episode, but you–my future constituents–deserve to know the truth. You see, my family has long been embroiled in a “blood feud” with another clan, a depraved group of heartless brigands and cowardly assassins known as the McCracken family. The origins of our dispute have been lost to the winds of history, but this has only fanned the fires of our mutual hatred. Over the years, I’ve lost seventeen cousins, four uncles, two aunts, and a sibling or two to their murderous ways and–naturally–as one of the few surviving heirs to my proud family name, I can’t just take this sort of thing lying down. So, one cold Sunday I drove to the very edge of the McCracken compound armed only with my trusty sniper rifle. I took up a position in the highest elm tree around the estate, fixed my telescopic, laser-aided sight on the first person foolish enough to step outdoors, and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, my victim wasn’t a McCracken at all, just some guy who had stopped by to talk to them about remodeling their kitchen. Oops. Seriously, though, shit like that happens when you’ve got a blood feud going on. If my esteemed opponents want to make a big deal about it, fine. But ask yourself this: would you rather have yet another milk-fed pampered idealist in Congress, or would you rather have a guy who’s confronted the meaty issues of life and death head on? Think about it.
2) I once was at a cocktail party with a bunch of fashion models, some film industry types, a couple of international billionaires, and at least three members of the Minnesota Supreme Court. In the midst of a round of “body shots”, one of the justices blabbed to me that he could “take care” of my outstanding parking tickets if I set up on a date with an acquaintance of mine, a lovely and refined woman who just happens to be the former Miss Paraguay. I refused, citing my commitment to judicial integrity, as well as Miss Paraguay’s hopeless and futile crush on my good friend and occasional commenter, Greg.
3) I believe that religion should be kept out of the public sphere. With this in mind, I call on all my esteemed and fearsome enemies not to look too hard into the gossip going around that, back in my “lost decade”, I played bass in a “goth metal” band called Pus Of Christ. There is simply no truth to those rumors. In fact, I played rhythm guitar. And, prior to his unfortunate incarceration, our lead singer Lazlo Crucifix proclaimed me to be a talent on the level of a Dave Mustaine. So there.
4) Also, I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss the allegations of rampant heroin abuse. These are the sorts of libelous lies that get spread around by Karl Rovish political operatives, ethics-challenged bloggers, bloviating talk show hosts, and my dealer Peanut.
5) Throughout my campaign, I have been dogged by charges that I “don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about” and “have fewer qualifications than that crazy guy who lives at the bus station”. Some have even said that “my entire candidacy is a sham, a pitiful farce, and a sorry attempt by some Z-list blogger to drive even more undeserved attention to himself”. This, I’m afraid, is the overheated rhetoric that has ruined America’s faith in the political process. The people who say such things are all worthless shit-eating fuckdogs with bad teeth and worse breath. Fuck them. I’ve heard that you can catch chlamydia just from listening to them.
6) Back in my college days, a few young women (who will remain nameless), used to think it was a big hoot to get me dressed up in clingy, skimpy female garments. I would consent to this because I immediately and enthusiastically consent to anything any member of the fairer sex requests of me, be it opening a pickle jar or setting my own hair on fire. Occasionally, they’d even take pictures of me in this apparel. I now regret this behavior and assure you, my beautiful potential voters, that three separate “hit teams” of 5-7 trained, ex-military commandos have been dispatched to Seattle, San Francisco, and Milwaukee to find those pictures and return them to me. Be advised that they have been authorized to use deadly force if they encounter any resistance. .
7) Let’s get this out of the way as soon as possible: I have a vagina fetish. It is my pledge to you that I won’t let this get in the way of legislating and serving the American people. In my political career, the American people will always come first. You can take that to the bank.
