Vote For Me

A Story by Ron Sanders

Dated, but what the hell. Up your captcha.

Vote For Me

With the election nearing and the campaign coming to a close, I feel it’s incumbent upon myself and my staff to express our deepest gratitude and dearest affection for all those constituents who’ve made this grueling effort such an inspiring and invigorating experience.

Old Glory just never gets old, does she?

Before I get to the body of my speech, I’d like to congratulate my worthy opponents on a great contest. Now that the flames are dying down, the smoke’ll clear up soon enough, and we’ll be able to put all those charges and counter-charges behind us. Honestly, folks, politics is no place for dirty fighting, for unsupported allegations, or for attacks on the personal lives of contestants, so I’ll be first to deny any claims of electioneering, money laundering, or infidelity. Plus, we’re all aware of the awesome opportunities for pederasty in this field, and I’ll never, ever suggest specific acts or implicate particular candidates--but when I kiss babies that’s as far as I go, okay, Senator?

This is as good a time as any to put to rest those spurious charges of misused campaign funds--and once again I’m not going to point fingers. I feel it’s beneath the dignity of my candidacy, and of that gorgeous flag under which I hunch, to name names, field nonsensical charges, or make excuses.

But gentlemen, gentlemen: we must be leaders of men, not merely politicians! Higher office is an honor demanding those virtues of honesty and forthrightness becoming of statesmen! Enough said.

So, as you all very well know, it has been central to my cause to apprehend that notorious ne’er-do-well, the Shame of Islam, Mr. Oscar Ben Laden. Now, while my rivals have been primping and posing, I have been diligently vigilant. Just so. Upon learning of rumors that Mr. Laden was holed up in the French Riviera, I and my staff immediately obtained an air vessel with which to seek him out and bring him to justice.

The charges from my opponents reek of mudslinging and political opportunism.

Of course a deluxe jet was hired out--good patriotic men don’t long remain incognito arriving in Bordeaux in a crop duster, for heaven’s sake! And if the vessel happened to be named Page Boy Paradise--what of it? I don’t name planes, friends, I have work to do. As it stands, we narrowly missed apprehending Mr. Laden, but are following up on reports he has shifted his operations to Tahiti. And yes, Senator, Hummers are indeed military vehicles, no matter how fancy their paint jobs, no matter how plush their interiors.

Now, when all this slurring, slinging, and sniping gets down to the familial level, it becomes increasingly difficult for a candidate to retain his professionalism. I am, after all, a man--and that comment is in no manner intended as a slight, Congressman--so when a patriotic American’s loved ones come under attack, this teddy bear is liable to show some teeth.

In the first place, I’m absolutely sick and tired of the tabloids’ preoccupation with my wife’s so-called “drinking problem”. Tipsy is a wonderful woman, completely devoted to motherhood and the micromanagement of this pulse-pounding campaign.

And I will not tolerate abuses heaped upon my children!

Little Sally, like any young lady, is attracted to men in uniform, as are we all. Her very deep appreciation for our fighting men is a matter for patriotic pride, not slander. Great Americans have a long history of entertaining our troops. The next time I hear that execrable phrase “Seventh Fleet Sally” applied to my lovely daughter, I…I…well, let us move on.

Jeff is a perfectly normal, healthy teenaged boy. All youngsters like to experiment, so we’ll be dismissing those highly-colored charges right here and now, okay? Okay.

I didn’t raise my son to be a liar!

If Jeffrey says he accidentally sat on a gerbil while his underpants were being laundered at the Punk-n-Go Cafe, well, I believe him. Those Internet emergency room photographs should be engendering waves of sympathy, not laughter. But…this is precisely the kind of filthy gossip every decent politician must endure--it’s part and parcel to public exposure.

Let it go, let it go, let it go--if Gramma Hydra does indeed talk to angels, how much finer is that than verbally consorting with demons--and again, Senator, no reference intended. If Uncle Willy is occasionally found outside elementary schools wearing only a towel, well, this man needs guidance, not censure. You won’t catch me bringing up a certain Supreme Court Justice’s penchant for wearing ladies’ underwear beneath those most becoming robes, or suggesting the Speaker’s mob connections are anything less than honorable, or wondering just who put the “vice” in Vice President, anyway. Also, I’ve consistently and passionately fought for the Constitutional right to exercise one’s own sexual preference, no matter how bizarre, unbecoming a national leader, or dangerous to the very voters he’s sworn to protect, so I’m not about to impugn a sitting president now.

This is why it is so important for politicians to keep abreast of the issues: we all need to do our homework--“special” interest groups…what, you don’t put your pants on one leg at a time?

Let’s get our facts straight, d****t! Let’s all pay closer attention to the matters at hand!

For example, these people for the treatment of ethical animals.

Call me stupid, folks, but in my book an ethical animal doesn’t need to be treated; let him do his own thing, he’s not hurting anybody. It’s the selfish ones we have to worry about, and please don’t take offense, Tribune.

What’s that?

But I just got here.

What kind of people are we becoming, anyway?

The issues, folks, the issues.

Bring our boys home. I don’t care where they live, damn it; bring ’em home.

Fair housing? I can’t even get reasonable landscaping.

What do you mean my time’s up? Nobody made the Janitor or the Congressman sit down.

People! People! Remember to stop by our kiosk on the way out. Buy yourself a calendar or two before they expire. And bear in mind that my bookmarks, bumper stickers, and toy balloons are made right here, in factories painted red, white, and blue. Hidalgo, Singh, and Chin-chin will be happy to give you the lowdown. Our brochure explains, in fun and easy graphics even the kids can enjoy, just how you-and-yours can order wholesale for picnics, parades, or post-election parties. And we cater!

You’ve all been great.

So now I’d like to take this opportunity to--just let me bring out my damn family, will you?

Sally?

Hey, we’re going, for Christ’s sake!

Sirs! I’ll have you know that that young lady is not yet of legal tender.

Jeffrey? Oh, for the love of--Jeff! Would you please take that--all right, all right, I heard you the first time!