My Neighbor Charlie Runs For President July 5, 2007

     My neighbor, Charlie, the accountant, has thrown his hat in the ring. Actually, it’s a baseball cap for the Mets, but he never wears it backwards.
     Charlie is certain he has the right stuff to be President.
     “On September 11 I was walking around New York City, brushing the dust off myself. I led a small group of people into a storefront, so I was in charge,” Charlie told the local news reporter, Miss Emma Fitzfitz, an octogenerian with bad hearing.
     “Were you ever cruel to animals, sir?” Emma asked.
     “I certainly was. I yelled at my dog once for hiding one of my slippers.”
     “How does that qualify you?” I asked.
     “Well, terrifying my dog shows that I do what’s necessary, no matter what, doesn’t it?” Charlie said.
     Miss Emma nodded her head. I shook her awake.
     “Where do you stand on evolution, sir?” Miss Emma said.
     “I can pander to the religious right just as well as anyone.”
     “But where do you stand on evolution?” she repeated.
     “I think I’m quite evolved,” he said, breaking a little sweat.
     “Of course you are, sir” Miss Emma said. She said to me, “He’s quite wonderful, isn’t he?”
     “What’s your religion, Charlie?” I said.
     “I’m glad you asked that. It’s very important.” He fiddled with his cap. “What else do you want to know?”
     “I want to know what your religion is.”
     “Well, I’m a Morchrisjewian. But that’s not really important. I would never let all of my faith’s tenets dictate my actions in office.”
     “Just some of them, then, sir?” Miss Emma said.
     “Precisely.”
     “How will you fight the war on terror?” I asked.
     Charlie brushed some dandruff off his plaid shirt. “Well, I’ll fight them in Iraqistan so they don’t come over here and marry my daughter.”
     “You don’t have a daughter,” I whispered to him.
     “Shhh,” he whispered back. “My people are going to rent one.”
     Miss Emma chimed in with, “Sir, should we attack Iranistan?”
     “Of course. We have to keep them from building nuclear power plants and getting all modern and then coming over here to marry my daughter.”
     “What about the illegal immigration problem, Charlie?”
     “That’s an easy one. Round them up, send them home, collect a fine, and make them come back in later.” He grinned and waved at the crowd. Well, at me and Miss Emma.
     “But, sir, the Congress just rejected that approach.”
     “Well, harumph, then I’d build a fence along the entire Canadian border. What did you think of my harumph? I’ve been practicing.”
     “Good harumph, Charlie. But it’s not Canadians crossing the border. It’s Mexicans.”
     “Well, we have to start somewhere. And I love Mexican food. Canadian food, too.”
     “Sir, would you pardon Scooter Libby?”
     “I’d pardon all my friends. What’s a President good for if he can’t pardon his friends? It’s the American way, right?”
     Miss Emma wrote that down, and announced that she had to toddle off to cover a flower club luncheon.
     “Well, I think that went okay, didn’t it?” Charlie said, watching Miss Emma toddle away.
     I nodded sagely. “You’ve got all the important things down, that’s for sure, Charlie. But what about money? It takes a lot of money.”
     “Oh, no problem. Remember? I work for Incredibly Huge Accounting Company. We have government contracts. There’s lots of money there for the taking.”
     I cocked my head and stared at him. “Republican, right?”
     “Of course,” he harumphed.