Monday, September 30, 2002
There comes a time in the political life of everyone in the public eye where they weigh the value of what they can accomplish in office with the sacrifices made in their personal life. It is with heavy heart I address these concerns in my own life, and I must tell you all that I cannot and will not accept the nomination for president of the United States by my party, and if nominated, I will not run.

This comes as a shock to many of my supporters, I’m sure. Supporters like Betty Hoopmay of Blush, Nevada, who sent a very supportive letter that, while severely criticizing my recent columns as “piss-poor journalism,” ended with the very affirming, “I don’t wish you dead or anything, but you need to get your shit together.” Thank you, Betty. I don’t wish you dead either. But despite these outcries of faith in me, I cannot accept the nomination for president.

For one, the timing is bad. I have too many responsibilities at the commune here that I’m currently ducking. I cannot shirk all the required responsibilities of the office of president at the same time—that’s more than one man can avoid. I have chosen to devote my energies to the commune at this point in time… or has it chosen me? Either way, we’re damned to be intertwined for a while yet. And despite my appearance of worldliness, I fear and mistrust foreigners, which is bound to interfere with my responsibilities of meeting and trying to act like I’m listening to dignitaries from other countries. Other dirty, unwashed countries.

The tireless, thankless job of running for president itself would be more than I could bear at this time. I need constant reassurance and reward for everything I do. I need blind, vacant approval for all that I do and I need people to stay out of my life, to let it remain enigmatic and a beautiful mystery left alone by all reporters. Everyone I work for at this point understands that, if they know what’s good for them, and I’m not prepared to give that up just to be president.

As much as I hate to mention this, too, my party is virtually powerless to make any significant headway in an election. My party, the Sandwich-Socialist party, is only on the ballot in two states, and one of those is the state of mellow, which is a mood rather than an actual state. This owes to many factors, not the least of which is that it’s a very bad idea to hold all your meetings while heavily intoxicated, but the very fact that I would have little chance of accomplishing anything other than wasting my modest fortune on a bid for the presidency, makes it imperative that I decline the nomination, if offered to me.

Which brings me to another point—I don’t even get the nomination to be our presidential candidate? Fellow Sandwich-Socialists, I have to say I’m pretty offended by this. Yes, I’m not going to accept the nomination, and if nominated I will not run, but it is just plain ridiculous that we’ve gone this far without myself being nominated for the position. For Christ’s sake, I started the party, I developed our elaborate platform of all sales tax going to build sacred temples and liquor replacing bathwater in homeless shelters, the least you could do is throw me the bone of nomination. It was my idea to call us the Sandwich-Socialists. Is that why you’re pissed? It’s not a great name, I admit, but I’d like to see you do better buried under 132 mini-bottles of Kahlúa. It’s not too bad, really. At least I got “socialist” in there, as per Gary’s suggestion.

So for those reasons, and no more, I will happily remain a civilian during this upcoming election. Though, now that I think about it, the next presidential election isn’t until 2004. I still have next year to start campaigning, if anyone wants to nominate me. I’m not saying I will… just… it would be nice to get the nomination.

Lawsuit Settled, Advantage: Bagel
Apparently, M-TV and Dunkin were a poor match from the get-go and even the coveted 3-5 a.m. timeslot couldn’t make him a star. He pink-slipped that job and ended up writing plays off-off-Broadway, specifically the Vlanch Community Theater in Vlanch, Pennsylvania.

I Want Compensation for the Play Based on My Life
First off, and this is so obvious it doesn't bear pointing out: Fred Scarsdale? It rhymes with Red so plainly I needn't go any further. The judge will hear that and throw the book at the playwright, and it will be a Michener book, I can tell you that much.

The Cold Dish on Reality TV
Like the “real people” on Cops, every reality show character is portrayed by unknown actors with strong improvisational skills, but poorly-constructed characters.

Someone Has Ruined Citizen Kane for Me
It seems like every time I’ve gone and talked about movies—I’m quick to brag about having seen them all—someone asks me a quick list of which “great” movies I’ve seen. The Godfather? No, but I saw clips from it.