I cannot be president of the United States. I checked with the internet to make sure. For one thing, I am not tall enough (too short, for those of you from my plain-speaking town of East Helena, Montana). I will spare you (me, for those of you that are not me) the details on that, other than to say, it’s a perception thing.
Another thing that will
destroy my chances for president is reporters.
They would ask me questions. I
would give them Mitch answers. Mitch
answers are the first thing that come to mind.
If, for instance, reporter X asked, “What do you most admire about
women?” I would answer: “Their butt.” And then I would need to walk all over
myself trying to explain that I meant to
say I admire how women are consensus builders and women usually won’t punch you
in the face. And…well…never mind!
I dig holes.
That’s what I do.
I am not convinced that I
can be trusted with the nuclear arms button, either—especially if they have it
located anywhere near a light switch or a garage door button. I am always flipping the wrong switch when I
am confronted with two or more of them.
The garage door buttons? Forget
about it!
There are plenty more
reasons why I cannot be president, including the fact I don’t wear underwear. I’m sure that will matter to someone. I also display poor judgment by living with 40
pounds of housecat.
Vice president?
I think that’s a workable deal.
--Mitchell
Hegman
Why even think of being president when you already are in the very territory you can say you own -- your household.
ReplyDeleteHaha. My 40 pounds of cat are in charge here.
ReplyDelete