I think we should elect Alice Cooper.
I know a do-over.
Mulligan if you will.
This time I’m in.
Roger Glyn Hayes
Write-in Roger Glyn
Y instead of E One N.
Roger Glyn Hayes President.
I want to be elected too.
Or Alice Cooper he will do.
It was his idea after all.
Does it Freddy? Me, you, Alice Cooper.
Penguins all look the same.
Nothing has changed in my life.
Except words offend anything everybody but not me.
At least my ex-wives thought.
Free speech! You got to have a blog for that, ha. Sorry.
Let me examine this situation.
Demo: to demonstrate a new technique
What was wrong with old and lousy.
Demolish: reduce a thing to uselessness.
High grades on that one.
Equal time be cool.
Republic a state in which supreme power is held by the people and its elected officials.
Which has an elected President rather than a Monarch.
Hmmm. Trust but verify. Who said that?
President Verified. Ron Reagan.
Let me see.
Con: persuade someone to believe something typically by deception.
This is starting to offend me.
But anyway, a do-over. Vote again a simple poll on my website.
We will put all the names on the poll, and you vote.
I’ll set it up. I’ll get someone to do the security check.
Bingo, issue remedied. Not a problem at all.
I’m going to make my party.
What are you going to call it?
How about V.P. the Verify Party.
No, no sounds too much like the vice president. You know V.P.
How about this: Verify Victory.
That’s pretty dang good.
Here’s the deal. I’m an ordinary average guy.
Smart, hardworking, honest, American, War Widows son. College-educated.
Don’t forget you just retired so it’s not like you don’t have time.
Yep, man, can we play some golf then. Presidential all the way bro.
So how are we going to play this bossy saucy?
First, we will make a YouTube video and promote it.
Cool. Share, share, share.
What the video?
Of course, you silly goose. But that will be my campaign slogan.
Elect You Elect Me
But When U Git There be Prepared to:
Then music plays: Heaven, I’m in Heaven. Stimulus Heaven.
Subliminal you know.
So, tell me this Mr. Candidate what is your platform.
Let me rattrap on it.
You mean rap.
No, I made this up. Like rap but a rattrap.
Read aloud to the Rats a Poem.
Just add music.
Here’s my poem
Flat, fat, with slats to hold the rats
We the peeps.
Set a trap for all rats and do hereby
Decree a rat purge since we have the urge.
And we will creep into the Wooley Swamp Haven.
Since Trump was dumped.
We are paving a new Heaven Haven.
For we, the peeps you creeps.
Tired boss, just tired.
About to do you a service.
Boss, no loss.
Sever the suspicion. Before we have a terminal condition.
Can you dig my position? Unelected nobility rat.
I mean really. Did the bill of rights give you a rash?
Because the Constitution is being trashed.
And it seems everything is about to crash.
So, let me be brash. And I might even lash.
We want to be elected. Instead of selected.
And rejected. Tired of being inspected.
Interrogated, waterboarded, and fucking hungry.
Tired of lying. Spying. And especially dying.
Crying shame. If you don’t have a name.
Fame, or folding money. Who are you?
Who who. You a zip zip. Who made who?
And no lip. Ya think we don’t think.
What does pandemic mean to you home skillet?
Panem hungers for games. Same lame dame.
Shame. I know. We are trained in the brain.
Nightly news, FDR, Andy, Barney, BET, Oprah, 20/20.
Bing. Ding. Ring a ling and sing a different song.
Stereotype? Mines a Panasonic. Quadraphonic.
How ironic. How manic. But we won’t panic.
Cause some are Shamanic. Drums.
Can you hear them? Best fear them.
Adhere to them. About to verify.
Then infiltrate the Lair of the Liar.
I swear. We going to grow a pair.
Us here. Can you bear it? Dare?
Cause like the brother said,
We bout to share it.
Take the election like a thief in the night.
We were just bye den waiting for you to cross the line in the sand.
Waiting for you to fix our Charm School.
But these rumors you must admit throw up red flags.
Trust quotient now is suffering costing votes.
Is Washington being held hostage?
Time to shut up and put up.
And I’m waiting. Satan.
Say it isn’t so Joe.
Pres.? Pence.? Harris?
Is anyone in there?
The clock. The clock.
Doom. Tick or Tock.
Baby please don’t go down.
The Rabbit Hole.
To late. Too late.
2021 the Face of Fate.
Will you participate.
Or be a Statue of Hate?