On Presidents Day tomorrow, I will honor our presidents with their favorite pastime — golfing.
The occasion also makes me contemplate what to tell the Mission Manor Nursing Home caregivers in my east Texas hometown of Mt. Vernon, Texas —after I eventually move in to sharpen my domino skills — on why I never became president.
Here are the political realities I will share:
• I couldn’t make complex issues black and white enough to rake in enough green.
• I couldn’t hit a moose.
• I couldn’t see Communists from Portales.
• I didn’t know how to sneak in Oval-Office interns.
• I wouldn’t admit to Playboy that I had “lust in my heart” (but, unlike Jimmy Carter, will cop to ogling their centerfolds).
• I couldn’t tell insurgents to “bring it on.”
• I wouldn’t pretend that the military, postal service, interstates and public schools weren’t Big Government.
• I didn’t think that wars and tax cuts mixed.
• I wouldn’t pretend to be religious.
• I couldn’t win support from birthers who claimed that my ebony-and-ivory FUBU shoes proved that I wasn’t born in Texas.
• I couldn’t win with my tiny base’s Green-Tea-Party platform that listening and compromising for half a loaf is wiser than demonizing and ending up with a biscuit.
• I wasn’t tall enough.
• I couldn’t stay par for the course by beating that old dead horse.