Hello, fellow Texicans. Is it too late for me to run for office on November 2? I’m not sure what I’d run for—governor of Texas maybe, or senator so I can replace that Lloyd Daggett guy. I don’t like his bleeding-heart liberal face. Rick Perry ain't too bad, but he’s been around forever and besides, I’m better looking. It’s time for regular, good-lookin' dudes like me to step up and replace all these corrupt career politicians.
If people like the great (and hot) Sarah Palin and Christine O’Donnell have taught us anything, it’s that you don’t need a fancy degree from some Ivy League school to be a politician. Hell, you don’t have to know jack-shit about anything, really. You just gotta be passionate about hating lots of things, like Washington, taxes, liberals, illegal aliens, smart people and homos. Check, check, check, check, check and check. I’m there.
Back in the day I was a Libertine, but I got kicked out of that organization for accidentally shooting a local bigwig at a fundraising barbecue. I pulled my 9 mm out of my waistband and shot at a wild turkey that was strutting through the nearby field. I was tracking it in my sights and didn’t see Darrell standing there in the line of fire like some dumbass and I shot him in one of his chins by mistake. The bullet just passed through his neck fat and didn’t hit nothing important, but he sure did bleed a lot. They said I was drunk and kicked me out. Of course I was drunk! They had four kegs of beer there. What’d they expect?
That turned me off of politics for a good while, but a couple weeks ago I signed up to be a Tea Patriot when this little hottie with big auburn hair and super-tight jeans knocked on my door and persuaded me that the Socialists are taking over this country and we damn well better stop them before they turn everybody into godless Muslim faggots. Her name was Annette and she had cute Sarah Palin glasses, big white teeth and big… well, a big heart. It was love at first sight so I signed up to be a Patriot then and there. Plus I asked her out on a date. I splurged and took her to Applebee’s. She was duly impressed.
Last week we were snuggled up on Annette’s couch watching future Delaware senator Christine O’Donnell debate that bald neckless Coon guy. Christine really showed him up good when he tried to trick her into thinking that the First Amendment said something about separating church and state. What an idiot! Christine is a constitutional scholar, so she should know. That debate made Annette want to go do some fundraising, but there was something else I wanted to raise up first, if you know what I mean. Tea Patriot women may be like mama grizzlies with their babies, but they’re also like randy rabbits in the bedroom.
After we made sweet patriotic love in the normal Biblical fashion, Annette told me I should run for office.
“You’re tall, you’re handsome, you’re charmin' and you tell it like it is,” she said. “You’d make a great statesman.”
That got me to thinking. She was right, of course. But would I be willing to give up the freedom of running my own septic tank cleaning business to go to Washington or Austin and take on the liberal elites? I’d surely miss driving my pump truck around out in the sun with no one to tell me what to do, although I wouldn’t miss the smell of human shit.
On the other hand, I don’t want my kids growing up in a Socialist State where everybody thinks they’re automatically entitled to health care and retirement funds and food stamps and paved roads and think they descended from monkeys, and where the government tells them how many rug-rats they can have. No siree Bob. That night, after I polished off a case of Lone Star, my destiny became clear: I must run for public office.
I know I’m late to the game, but write me in on your ballot come November 2. Write me in for Governor, General Attorney, Senator, whatever. I’m wide awake now to what’s really going on in this country and I’m ready to change things back to how they were in the 1950’s when America was great. Be sure to spell my name right. It’s Joe Anger. J-O-E A-N-G-E-R.
Remember, I am you—if you were taller, better-looking and carried a Glock in your pants. Now, let’s take back America!
(And in the meantime, if your septic tank backs up, call me at 512-555-POOP. Satisfaction guaranteed, but no refunds.)
