An age-old method for picking the next president
Editor’s note: The following account is fictional. All resemblance to living or deceased people is purely coincidental.
It’s more than a year until we vote for president, but the pre-election feeding frenzy is already ravenous and will intensify as primary elections commence in January.
So to avoid the whole bloody, pontificating mess, I’ve devised a foolproof scheme.
It’s simple: We award the presidency to the oldest person in the United States. When that person dies, the next oldest takes over, and so on.
Based on nothing in particular, I figured the oldest person must live in Louisiana (where people refuse to die because they could no longer eat gumbo and crawfish etouffee).
Bernie Boudreaux, as it turns out, lives in Loggy Bayou, La. (in the northwest corner of the state).
Bernie’s 112 years old, and thus qualifies to be our next president. His wife, Lucille, is 98. (Yes, Bernie robbed the cradle.)
I recently called Bernie to tell him the good news.
Lucille answered: “You want to speak to who!?”
Me: “Bernie Boudreaux.”
Lucille: “Bonnie Dewgrow doesn’t live here!”
Me: “No. I said Bernie Boudreaux.”
Me: “Is Bonnie Dewgrow there?”
Lucille: “Yeah. I’ll get him … Bernie, someone wants to talk to you!”
Me: “Hi, Bernie. I’m just calling to inform you that as the oldest person in the country, you’ve been selected to be our next president.”
Me: “Is Bonnie there?”
Bernie: “You’re talking to him!”
Me: “Bonnie. You’re now president of the United States. Are you excited?”
Bernie: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ …
Lucille: “Wake up, Bernie! Someone’s trying to talk to you!”
Me: “Mr. President?”
Bernie: “Mmmmm … this tapioca pudding sure tastes good.”
Lucille: “Bernie! Stop eating your denture glue!”
Me: “What will be your first goal as our new leader, Mr. President?”
Bernie: “Ya know, I once had a dog named Buster. He’d turn around in circles and then … ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Lucille: “Bernie! Wake up!”
Me: “Bonnie, you’ve been president for about 10 minutes now. How does it feel to wield such power?”
Bernie: “I can’t remember.”
Me: “There’s a growing threat from Iran, Mr. President. As our leader, what will you do about it?”
Bernie: “Bran!? Yeah, I eat a lot of bran. It’s good for my bowels.”
Me: “Mr. President: Who will you select as your vice president?”
Bernie: “Vice!? Ya mean like smoking, drinking and running around without my pants? Sure, I can get that for ya.”
Lucille: “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Me: “Mr. President: What will you do to ensure that every American has health care?”
Bernie: “Look: In my day a penny was a penny, a nickel was a nickel, and Lulu Krasinski had the prettiest little … “
Me: “Last question, Mr. President: “When you die, how would you like to be remembered?”
Bernie: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ …
– Paul Dunn is editor of the Tahoe Daily Tribune. He can be reached at (530) 542-8047 or at email@example.com.