Somehow, despite all the possible combinations available, we as a nation have selected two Presidential candidates nobody likes. The Democrats, seemingly desperate to lose an un-losable election, selected a black man with a terrorist’s name.
The Republicans unearthed a member of the Keating Five who might have died as many as five years ago, and probably still refers to his bus as “a horseless carriage.”
Now we’re left with the gloomiest election since Americans were given the unappetizing choice between James Buchanan and John C. Fremont. Frustrated voters are either expressing their disdain for Obama, or not saying anything about McCain. What promised to be an enlightening election of ideals has become one that has only inspired Paris Hilton to action.
My furious hand has been forced. I must save the nation. Again.
Unlike the two candidates who have had months and months to establish themselves, I make the planks of my candidacy clear. After all, I don’t think you should have to guess that it was Colonel Mustard in the conservatory with the candlestick. You’ll know exactly what you’re smoking when placing your check next to the name Angry Czeck.
But first, I need a crackerjack slogan.
I don’t have the time or the war chest to hire consultants or focus group some concepts. Besides, I’m a writer! Surely I can think of something inspirational and quick.
Wow! Now that’s a swell slogan, and it came to me in, like, a minute. “Yes We Can” sucks. “Can” what? Can be easily out-maneuvered by a 72-year-old corpse? Can be photographed wearing a turban? I’d make fun of McCain’s slogan, but who in the hell knows what it is?
Wait. I nearly shorted out Google, but I found it: Country First. Oh-oh. The God people are going to hate that.
Secondly, I need a Party – preferably one hosted by Kid Rock! (Thanks. I’m here all week.) The Democrats fear my rancor, so I won’t have much luck budging Obama off the ticket. Meanwhile, the Republicans have been lobbying for my extradition to Cuba for years.
That means I’m going to have to make-up my own party. I already know what the symbol is. (I drew it on construction paper in the 1st grade) Forget asses and elephants. Mine shall be a muscular Centaur riding upon an armored lion strapped to a tank. That’s hot. Now the name:
Brief but penetrating! As a bonus, I’ve already named my Vice President: Al Sharpton. That way, nobody will be tempted to kill me once I assume office.
Now that I’ve tended to the important details, it’s time to dive right into the very planks of the Angry Czeck’s mighty platform. Here they are, in no particular order:
Paging Doctor Canada: I will socialize healthcare
Every time the Angry Czeck recommends that the government take-over healthcare, a Republican dramatically clutches his heart and croaks, “Do you really want socialized medicine?”
Well, yes. Or at least regulate health care so that an MRI doesn’t cost us each a trillion dollars.
The Angry Czeck bounced a few concepts around with his cabinet. “Maybe we should try some kind of hybrid.” Socialized medicine for acute illness (like cancer), for instance. Or maybe we should just regulate the drug industry, or create a separate judicial system for medical-related lawsuits. Or just try to stamp out a universally workable government insurance plan.
But if you’re going to bite into that, you might as well eat the rest.
I am aware that such a move would earn my administration many names: “Savior.” “Visionary.” “Communist.” Personally, President Czeck is willing to accept all those monikers, especially if it means that those of us not pulling in the Big Bucks can afford to get sick once in awhile.
Every sector of private medicine is out of control – providers, drug companies, insurers, lawyers, everyone. For example, before the patent on a medication expires, drug companies tag their medications with useless chemical strands and market them as brand new. Essentially, you’re paying new drug prices for a drug that hasn’t been improved at all.
Meanwhile, lawsuits directed at every facet of the medical industry are inflating insurance premiums. As a result, smaller businesses (and even larger businesses) can’t afford to give their employees reasonable health plans. In 2005, 47 million Americans were without health insurance. That’s 47 million people who are one cancer diagnosis away from generations of financial ruin.
Socialized medicine may not work. It may dilute talent and stymie the development of new drugs. But the way I see it, how could the government screw this system worse?
I’m saying it: An immediate withdraw from Iraq
Okay. Not immediate. President Czeck will commit our troops to Iraq for an additional 30 days after assuming office. That’s one month for anybody who doesn’t feel safe in Iraq to get out of Dodge.
Listen, we made our point. At any time, our military, without any assistance from allied countries worth a damn, can walk into your nation and fuck your world. We’ll disband your military. We’ll force-feed you a diet of capitalism and democracy. And we’ll organize your thugs into a terrorizing fighting force. You won’t like us when we’re angry.
That said, it’s time to leave Iraq in the dust. It’s not that you guys aren’t ready for democracy. It’s more like you don’t deserve it. You never fought for it. And when it was handed to you, you just argued for more power or bickered over antiquated religious distinctions. Keep squabbling. Meanwhile, we’re taking our football and leaving.
I also realize how disappointing this news will be to Exxon, Shell, BP, Chevron and the rest of you Western oil companies that won your no-bid contracts to revive Iraqi oil fields. The Angry Administration doesn’t staff any oil execs on the rolls, so you’ll just have to complain to the public I guess. In the wake of record profits, they’ll surely feel sorry for you.
Deport pit bulls (and their owners) to France
I like dogs. I like my face more. That’s the motivation behind this innovative piece of Angry Legislation.
This isn’t just about reducing the risk of some out-of-control canine ripping apart neighborhood toddlers. It’s more about raising the collective IQ of our great country (while lowering France’s in the bargain). After all, only an idiot would own a pit bull, and who needs idiocy weighing down the advancement of our nation?
Much in the same way France gave us the Statue of Liberty, the Angry Administration is giving France millions of visage-munching pit bulls. France’s socialized medical industry has successfully transplanted a face, so all I’m doing is giving more opportunities to practice a valuable craft.
Yee-Haw: English is the official language
Ooops! Suddenly, the Angry Administration sounds more like the Jesse Helms Administration, but hear me out.
There’s a mighty effort in certain circles to make Spanish a co-official language. (Hell, half the cartoons Angry Junior watches features a Spanish-speaking character.) I like Spanish as much as the next guy. Maybe not the upside-down punctuation, but nothing underscores a good-old fashion American whipping than a crisply said “Adios.”
Thing is, Spanish had its chance way back in our colonial history. So did Dutch. And Cherokee. And French. Nobody wanted it as badly as the English. That’s how these things usually shake out. One rises to the top. Yet now we’re double-printing bathroom signage because Congress can’t sit pat and keep things simple.
English is a staple of American heritage – like muscle shirts and all-you-can-eat buffets. It doesn’t really matter if the world accepts that. But it would be nice if we as a nation accepted it, rather than try to appease every demographic that plants a stake in this country.
Dude. Hop aboard at Conjunction Junction and learn English. It’s the language of Shakespeare and Don King. Hell, it’s one of the three official languages of the Beijing Olympics. (Spanish, by the way, is not.)
Spanish is a nice class for schools. So is music. And if I can to delete one, it’d be Spanish. The entire world values a well-played tuba.
It can’t hurt: Implement an Open Door Diplomacy policy
Writing the above statement got me thinking of the quaint days of Abraham Lincoln, when anybody was allowed to enter the White House and aggravate the President. Whether you had an invention to peddle, or you thought you might make a good Secretary of Defense, Lincoln spent the first six months of his presidency granting unworthy audiences with the nation’s leader.
Today, only deep-pocket cronies can rub-elbows with the President, and to tell you the truth, The Angry Czeck isn’t interested in breaking up the tradition.
However, diplomacy with the United States should always be made readily available.
Our hardliner position on negotiating with hostile countries is to be tight-lipped until the offending nation starts making concessions. I guess that’s supposed to make us look tough. But generally, the jerks in charge remain comfortably in charge while the citizenry go without medicine and rice.
Talk is no substitute to a kick in the teeth. But it doesn’t hurt, and you never know how war can be averted until you bring the two parties to the table. North Korea starts testing nukes? Invite them for Scrabble. Iran fires missiles? Propose a weekend at Camp David. Cuba still clinging to Communism? Chat over cigars. I get the feeling that, after a few toddies, we’ll find that most of these countries would rather not fight.
The Angry Czeck won’t talk to France though. That’s the policy.
Eat it, hippies: Increase the use of nuclear energy
As President, I vow never to cite France as a positive example for anything. But as candidate for President, I merely point out that France – the planet’s most pompous nation – derives 80% of its energy from nuclear power. (The other 20% is extracted from smoking cigarettes and complaining.)
If the French can suspend their exhaustive campaign of snobbery long enough to manage nuclear energy without creating a radioactive dinosaur, then by-golly, so can we! How long do we have to pay for Three Mile Island? A trillion years? And don’t give me Chernobyl. The cooling system was an oscillating fan and a tray of ice.
Truth is, nuclear technology is solid, clean, affordable, and pronounceable by most presidential candidates. It won’t solve the energy crisis, but it will make re-charging our new electric cars a hell of a lot cheaper. Yes, radioactive waste isn’t something I want dumped into my favorite pond. But I’d take it over a smokestack pumping more fluorocarbons into the air than Obama’s cigarette breaks.
Banish to Hell politics’ most damaging lobby: Hollywood
Me, my aids, my trusted advisers, we all loved Dark Knight. But if you’re like me, you don’t give a crap who Maggie Gylanhaal wants you to vote for. Furthermore, you’re probably just as horrified by Charlie Sheen’s ignorance as me. As your President, the Angry Czeck vows to not only dismiss any counsel from the celebrity sector, I just might funnel all the nuclear waste from my energy program into Hollywood, too.
People complain about the Gun Lobby and the Big Oil Lobby, but those guys are clowns compared to Hollywood, who have made destroying Democrats a fine art.
I do this not just for me, but also for the candidates who follow me. I’ve seen too many of my Democratic brethren derailed by Whoopi Goldberg and Sean Penn – two self-important morons who believe that, just by virtue of being famous, they have some kind of keen insight into the human condition.
Yes, we may miss the big stacks cash, the celebrity breasts, and the glowing photo ops, but what we’ll get in return are fewer nuggets of policy from Sharon Stone.
Remember, Hollywood – few of my constituents have nannies to raise their children and lackeys to buy their cocaine for them. You rarely find their extra-marital affairs documented on Websites, nor is People willing to pay millions of dollars to publish their test-tube baby pictures. Mostly, they are plain-looking people with jobs that can’t be described as “Pretend,” which is what you do all day. So please, have your valet help you off your high horse so that serious people can get on with running the country. Thanks.
I still hate you, Al Gore: Stop pretending global warming is pretend
If I’ve learned one thing from living with a family of farters, it’s that you can only pump the air full of toxins for so long before things start to turn a sickly shade of brown.
Furthermore, if 1000 scientists told me that mankind is altering the temperature of the Earth, and one lawyer from an oil company said the claim was bogus, I might side with the 1000 scientists.
And if Rhode Island-sized chucks of the Arctic Circle are breaking off into the sea at a more rapid pace than any time in recorded history, my angry administration could be compelled to launch a serious investigation.
And if the three major car manufactures in Detroit told me their was nothing they could do about reducing fuel emissions, or if major manufacturing industries bitched about eliminating floral carbons, I might tell them “Balls!” And then place a Green Tax on their products until they did.
And if China and Brazil continued to pour asbestos and lead into their products they try to sell to us, then they get a big Green Tax, too.
And if I were to staff the Environmental Protection Agency, I’d probably head it up with an expert, preferably somebody with a degree in science, rather than a lobbyist from Exxon.
Listen, the Angry Czeck celebrates Earth Day like the next guy – by throwing a burning tire into an environmentally protected creek. But pretending that global warming is not a legitimate concern does nothing to solve what will be a global problem.
As for Al Gore, I’m still extraditing him to Cuba.