Members of the media, big-money

donors, whiskey-marinated

pundits, entrenched party elite,

nubile coeds, my fellow

Americans ...

Today I come before you to

announce my intention to run for

— and win — the

presidency of the United States

of America.

I do this not as a member

of my party who arrogantly

thinks that it's my turn. Nor

do I do this as a man who

has the delusion that he should

rule the Free World. Nor do I

set upon this mission as

a mid-level mover and shaker

with access to a lot of rich

people....

I do it as all three.

But before I discuss my vision

for this country, the

substantive issues that our

country is crying out for

— what I shall ban, whom I

shall marginalize, new czars I

shall appoint — I would

like, in light of recent media

inquiries, to come clean about

my past.

I have said before that I will

not engage in "trash mouth"

politics. Neither will I get

involved in "yuck mouth"

politics nor in "Ralph Malph"

politics.

There is a game in Washington.

It's a game where somebody

floats a rumor. Then they see

how you respond. It's called

Gotcha!, the Washington game of

trying to ruin all the good and

worthwhile projects we seek to

accomplish on behalf of the

American people just because of

something we may or may not have

done at one point or another

long before anyone dreamed up

Hard Copy.

Gotcha! is not a good game. It

is not a fun game. Nobody wins

any money or gets any shiny

trophies or lucrative

endorsement contracts. In this

game, you won't see the

steroid-fed roosters or tortured

greyhounds that grace our most

exciting professional sports.

No, this is a spectators' sport

of a different kind.

And up until now, my fellow

Americans, I have refused to

play it.

Nonetheless, today I will play.

Today I will tell you what the

media has deemed that you, as

Americans, have a right to know.

It is my fervent hope that, with

my admissions today, we as a

nation can turn away from rumors

and innuendoes about me and my

family and my reckless and

irresponsible youth and toward

what matters: rumors and

innuendoes about my opponents.

America is a funny place. We

want to know everything about

the men — or women — we

put in charge of our nuclear

arsenal.

We want to know what the

candidates have put where and

when and with whom and how many

times and whether or not it

bled.

We want to know about a

candidate's soul. We want to

know what moves him, whether

it's nature or family, business

or accomplishment, loneliness or

inspiration. Or whether, during

lonely nights in hotel rooms on

the campaign trail, a candidate

may have punched up a little

porn — even if the TV screen

assured him that the title

wouldn't appear on the bill.

So yes, it is true that while

in Des Moines I watched

Celebrity Supersluts Part IV; in

Keene, New Hampshire, I saw

Chitty Chitty Gang Bang; and in

Sacramento I took advantage of

the Hyatt's "All You Can Watch

'Til Noon the Next Day" $19.99

policy and gorged myself on the

Slutty Professor, the Pelican Queef, and

then the Pelican Queef once

again the next morning.

I did this while traveling this

great nation of ours.

It gave me a sense of relief, of

calming, after being so

energized — after days spent

meeting a father of four laid

off from his job at the auto

plant, a World War II veteran

worried about how he was going

to pay for his Viagra, and a

single mother who had to work as

an exotic dancer just to make

ends meet.

Especially the single mother.

You see, the problems of these

people are what matter to me

most. Not the three years I

served in a Mexican prison for

trying to smuggle fine, uncut

Turkish hashish, which, in fact,

was given to me as a gift and

which produced only a headachy

creeper buzz. Not the time I

woke up naked, holding a gun

with five spent chambers in a

Butte, Montana, Motel 6 from a

speed-and-crack-

and-tequila-induced narcosis to

put Hunter S. Thompson to shame.

Not the time I awoke bloody and

scratched, having clearly

sodomized a duck to its death.

— which was last week.

No, these problems truly pale

when compared with what the

average middle-class American is

going through.

So while I outline this dirty

laundry list in the hope of

gaining your trust, please know:

I will not come to the end of

this list today. Nor tomorrow.

Nor this year. Nor perhaps even

in our lifetimes.

But let us continue.

I have ingested more drugs than

could ever hope to be amassed in

the combined veins and lungs of

the Grateful Dead, the Counting

Crows, and the Kennedy brood. These

drugs provided an escape for me

... just like the escape that

the American people need from

our confusing tax code!

So believe me, I know what I'm

talking about when I say drugs

are destroying the very social

fabric of this great land!

I have strayed from my wife and

slept with other women.

But, my fellow Americans, most of

these women were very

attractive!

Sometimes, at the wilder

Hollywood parties in the great

Golden State of California, I

have come across young men

with buttocks as firm as

Plymouth Rock and abs as cut as

Mount Rushmore and, yes, I have

experienced the love of men.

And occasionally a boy.

And at least on two occasions a

plant.

When it came time to serve my

country, my fellow Americans, I

didn't flee to Canada or use my

father's myriad connections to

secure a spot in the rich-boy

day camp known as the National

Guard. I didn't feign a limp or

lane a fimp, and I didn't claim

to be a conscientious objector.

No, my fellow Americans, I made

a pass at my recruiter.

But was this great nation not

built on such an enterprising

spirit? Where would we be if

Alexander Graham Bell or George

Washington Carver had been

content with the old way of

doing things?

Therefore, I say that US

businesses need to be unshackled

from restrictions and

regulations just as my libido

and inhibitions were freed when

Pablo put Roofies in my Chivas!

American liberty must be as

loose as were my various

orifices that night!

There is a New Spirit rising in

America. Irony has been

defeated. Cynicism is in

retreat. Now America must fight

the hardest war of all — the

war on shame. Shame that

prevents a man in search of real

change from taking out a

personal ad in which he

describes himself accurately as

"Voluptuous Pre-Op TV." Shame

that a devoted father and public

servant cannot chat on America

Online as "Caleb, 11 but big for

my age" without fear of

frivolous lawsuits. Shame that

while murderers and rapists

continue to walk our streets,

the people in the Washington

Establishment would have us

believe that acts of sedition

commited against the United States

while in the service of a foreign

prince or potentate is some kind

of High Crime.

I wish I could say that this

speech marks the end to all the

tawdry gossip. But I can provide

no such guarantee. More will be

asked about me; my life; my

finances; my father-in-law's

Cherry Hill, New Jersey, cement

business; and my three ex-wives.

There will be children claiming

paternity and loan sharks

claiming IOUs and hotel managers

claiming damages.

But I can tell you that, with

this list of admissions, I have

now come clean. With my robot

companion Gort, I stand before

you now, blameless, without

office or authority, a private

citizen, a Wiccan, an American,

just a man, and then some. The

road ahead will not be easy. But

little has come to me except in

the easy way. So let's make it

easy on ourselves.

Let us put these matters behind

us now, once and for all, so we

can begin debating the issues

that the American people truly

care about!

Let us do this if for no other

reason than it will save

time.

Now let us get back to you and

your needs and your problems!

Let us turn away from my scars

and pipes and look toward the

stars and stripes! Let us forget

my past and begin discussing

your future!

God bless you, and God bless the

United States of America!