The Next To Last Man Standing

I told you guys to knock it off, didn’t I? Go back an’ re-read my recent post — it’s right there: I don’t wanta be President! Seems like that was your cue to start crankin’ out petitions, slappin’ on bumper stickers, and jammin’ “Connor for President” signs in front yards — including mine!

Respectfully decline to run, and what happens? I’ve got 312 campaign managers and 1,781 political advisors — all self-appointed and extremely opinionated. The only good things are, they’re all Handgunner and GUNS readers, and they’re currently serving without pay.

My own predictions are coming true. The more the candidates flap their yaps, the lower their ratings plunge. If present trends continue, they may achieve approval ratings below zero. Certain political analysts are saying at that point the top three candidates will be undeclared, including me, an insurance broker in Kankakee whose mail comes back stamped “DECEASED,” and a cab driver in D.C. — but he’s not a US citizen, which could lead to constitutional issues with his candidacy — and he only speaks Umfombali. Or that’s his name, I forget.

I’m just not a viable candidate for political office, guys. For one thing, I don’t believe in leaving problems untreated simply because they have no neat, clean, painless and easy solutions. Do you know how third-degree burns are treated? I do. It’s messy and it hurts, but it’s better than dying from the inevitable infection. Here’s an example:

On Foreign Aid: The gravy train just derailed at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Rule Number One is, Nobody Gets Money! Prove your need for food and medicines due to a calamitous event — not a continuing natural condition or self-created crisis — and we’ll send food and medicines, and monitors to see who actually eats the beans and gets the meds. Don’t screw with us on this. Your country gets one chance per century.

You owe us on foreign aid loans? Make your payments or we’re turning your account over to the Mafia. We’ll write off the loss, and their cut will be all they can get. Don’t laugh, Mister silkskivvies Prime Minister; the Mob doesn’t send carefully-worded letters — they send Vinnie and Paulie with aluminum baseball bats. They know where you live. You’ll pay something — count on it. They’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.

Career Criminals

Prisons & Felons: All your color TVs, foos-ball games, computers and air conditioners are going to veterans’ hospitals. They earned ’em; you can too. Your weights and workout machines are going to police stations nationwide. Yoga classes will be available and literacy classes mandatory. If you want a tattoo showing you’re a bad-ass prison inmate, we’ll give you one — my own design. If you get an unauthorized tattoo in prison, it will be removed immediately, the hard way.

Prisons won’t be comfortable, but they will be safe, for guards, staff and inmates. This will be achieved by medieval means if necessary. Use your imagination; I can. “Three strikes and you’re out” laws will be repealed — predatory criminal behavior ain’t a ball game. Two strikes, max. “You’re out” will take on new meaning. “Recidivism” will become an archaic term. Don’t worry about the electric chair. Worry about electric bleachers.

Gangs: Wanta join one? We’ve got five. We provide “colors,” weapons and discipline. We even have cool thrown “hand signs” — they’re called salutes. Think you’re tough? Hang with the homies of “The Few, The Proud” for a while, then we’ll talk.

There’s more, but you see why I shouldn’t bother running? There is this one presidential announcement I would love to make, though. It is:

“Good morning, my fellow Americans! You are all now duly-appointed members of the United States Militia. Under the clear provisions of the Second Amendment, you are invited to enjoy the UN-infringed RIGHT to keep and bear arms.”

Hmmm … Check the polls and get back to me, okay? I might be available after all.

Connor OUT