All Things Must Pass

It is with deep regret that I must announce the end of my bid for the presidency of the United States. I’m heartbroken, and I know you are, too. But please, litttle friends… wipe away your tears and hear me out. These past six months have led us down a long, hard but ultimately rewarding road. My heartfelt thanks go to the two of you who joined me on the Veracity Van—my iconic 1965 VW campaign bus that gave you mild carbon monoxide poisoning that chilly spring night in Abilene while I was busy campaigning in a local bar. Thanks for pitching in to get the exhaust system fixed. I’m sure that with time, you’ll regain most of those lost brain cells.

I know I promised to stay in this race until the very end. In fact, I was just getting ready to make one final Herculean effort to spread to all Americans my message of hope, Eastern wisdom and free medicinal marijuana for everyone. Since Congress has lately been giving out cash like candy, I even sent a letter to Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi asking for a $200 million bailout of my presidential campaign. That’s peanuts! But alas, they said no. Nancy Pelosi must be using that money for yet another facelift, and Harry must be ready for a fresh rod up his ass.

Dispirited, I spotted a 46” LCD HDTV at Circuit City that I simply couldn’t live without, and I spent my remaining campaign war chest of $52.78 on it, and put the $1,500 balance on a credit card. To the three of you who actually made tiny cash donations to my campaign, all I can say is that I think you’ll forgive my misfeasance when you come over to the house and watch “Casino Royale” on Blu-Ray. It is truly awesome.

I was poised to make history as the first cool bald white dude to occupy the White House, but alas, that mantle will have to be shouldered another day by some other angry bald man. We had a good run, the few of you and I. Unfortunately, your random donations of stale pizza and spare change were just not enough to keep my campaign alive. And unlike Mike Huckabee and Hillary Clinton, I know when it’s time to quit.

Betty, thank you for the $20 you gave me while zonked out on Ambien. I don’t know if you remember, but I do. Also, I “borrowed” some of your Vicodin without asking. I’ll repay you the next time I get my head cracked open doing battle against The Man, which I’m sure will happen soon.

Bob, thanks for having the Angry Bald Man logo tattooed on your forehead that drunken night in New Orleans. I know it led to your divorce, and I do appreciate your sacrifice. Perhaps someday I can afford to pay to have the tat lasered off your noggin. (And by the way, if Christina was that shallow, I’m sure you’re better off without her. Now please stop sleeping in your car on my driveway. Your loud weeping is keeping me awake at night.)

Mr. X, sorry I didn’t get you those ABM for President campaign T-shirts you prepaid for. I’ll pay you back… as soon as my HDTV is paid off.

To the other handful of you who sent supportive emails, would it have killed you to send some cash?

And to the dozen or so citizens I met while campaigning, let me say that you confirmed one of my deepest held beliefs: most Americans are stupid, and we are in deep doo-doo.

Now your task is to choose from the remaining field of candidates: Democrat Barack Obama, Republican John McCain, Independent Ralph Nader, Libertarian Bob Barr, and actor/weirdo Christopher Walken. To me, the choice is clear. If I cannot be president, the next best choice is Barack Obama. Although I disagree with Obama on certain issues—for example, gay marriage, the death penalty, and his taste in pastors—I do share his belief that government has a responsibility to balance capitalism with social needs, and to protect the citizenry from runaway corporate greed. I also believe, perhaps naively, that a president should inspire hope and passion, not fear and loathing.

I therefore pledge my wholehearted support to the Obama/Biden ticket, and will throw my full organizational resources—which consist of a half-broken fax machine and a list of registered sex offenders in the city of Austin—behind the effort. In return, I must ask the Obama campaign and MoveOn.org to stop sending me those goddamn emails asking me to donate my money and time. I’ll do it, already. Just leave me alone!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch James Bond get it on with the luscious Vesper Lynde in high definition. Sweet!

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