Dateline Smileyville. Markus Jr. Pell
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was one of them. I do live and vote in the village (Mell has long since grown up and moved about a mile away, into the township), although the township proper begins right across the road from my house. And while I'm not the only member of the extended Riott clan to reside in the village, there aren't many of us. In any event, six times in the dozen years I've lived here Mayor Smiley has stood for election to remain our mayor, and every time he is convinced I am going to run against him, on account of our having had political squabbles back in my county commissioner days. I'd never vote for him, of course, any more than he'd vote for me, but I can honestly say that I have never aspired to the mayoralty of Smileyville.
For many years, Americans, I did aspire to be your president. Those aspirations - to be president and to be a great one for you - commenced when I'd barely turned six years old. I did not lose the desire and did not utterly surrender the dream until about ten years ago, along about the time I opened Smileyville Cab and Courier. I started Smileyville Cab and Courier because I found myself needing to do something, and it sounded like more fun than any of the other plausible possibilities I could think of; plus, if nothing else in all these years, Americans, I have learned the quickest route from Point A to Point B in Greening County, Michigan. I figured I could run the cab company while working toward the dream that replaced my dream to be a great president for you: the creation of the Bright White Light Entertainment Engine. I'm still working on it, Americans. The fun is in the journey.
As soon as running for the presidency was something I no longer wanted, I should have realized that God would find a way to foist a presidential nomination or two upon me. And that is just what He did, too. It was the morning of the day before Christmas this past December, and even though I've been a victim of Premature Curmudgeon Syndrome (PCS) since the pathetically young age of five (when I awoke one morning to discover that my perpetually 'furrowed brows,' plural, had knitted themselves into one 'furrowed brow,' singular, making for a tough start to the grade school years, I can assure you, while also providing a cautionary tale to you young Americans to listen to a loving mother or grandmother when she tells you that if you keep making that face it might just stay that way), I was feeling jolly. Daughter Mell came by for Christmas Eve morning coffee; after Mell left, I showered and shaved and headed on over to Mabel's Diner. The diner would be closing at two o'clock that afternoon on account of Christmas Eve and all, but I knew Ellie would be working the breakfast and lunch crowds, so I stopped in to say howdy, even though I'd be seeing her later that night. 'Ellie' is Ellie Belle O'Dell, the woman I love and aim to marry. She is also the niece of Mabel Knight, proprietress of the diner that bears her name. Rumors that I am courting Ellie in hopes of securing larger portions (okay - huger slabs) of Mabel's apple crumble, hot, submerged in deep dishes of milk, cold, are not worthy of response. I love Ellie for Ellie and I love Mabel's apple crumble for Mabel's apple crumble. Everybody loves Mabel's apple crumble, for gosh sakes.
I hate it, Americans, when I respond to something unworthy of response; it makes my brow tighten and gives me headaches.
Well anyway, I had a wonderful time with Mell, and a wonderful time with Ellie, and a wonderful time with my apple crumble - both slabs. Ip-zay the ip-lay, Americans; otherwise the First Lady or the mayor of New York or some zorbonite (more on them later) will discover that I usually have two slabs and sometimes three, and if that happens I might get into some deep-dish trouble! And we don't want that. Feeling stuffed but happy, I headed home from Mabel's Diner to take a little nap, before heading to the regularly-scheduled meeting of the Smileyville Township Secret Society of Conservative Democrats.
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The secret society (now the CDP) meets every other Saturday, and I thought it odd that Uncle Pat, our 2011 chairperson, didn't cancel the meeting, being the day before Christmas and all. But he said he had a piece of business to take care of before turning over the gavel to Jasper Brissell, the 2012 chairperson. I remember his brief grin when I told him all he'd do is make people mad and that he probably wouldn't even be able to muster a quorum to conduct any business. We have maintained a base over the years of about one hundred and twenty dues-paying members. Depending on the issues on the agenda, there are generally anywhere from twenty to forty members at our meetings, usually closer to twenty. The executive committee is composed of thirteen members, and seven of those thirteen are needed to constitute a quorum. Uncle Pat said he figured he'd have a quorum. When I asked what business would be on the agenda, I was again treated to the quick grin. He said that the only specific agenda item was a 'farewell speech' he planned to deliver. That was odd; Uncle Pat had taken any number of turns as chairperson of the secret society and had never before given a farewell speech, seeing as he'd be holding the gavel again in a few years, anyway. But it was clear that Uncle Pat didn't want to discuss his 'farewell speech,' so I didn't pester him about it.
To my amazement, the parking lot of the Smileyville VFW hall was nearly full when I pulled up shortly before two o'clock. Sometimes a scheduling conflict forces us to hold our meetings at the smaller Smileyville Township hall, a few miles from the village. Figuring the VFW must be having some Christmas shindig, I was about to drive on out to the township hall when I noticed Uncle Pat's pickup parked near the front doors of the VFW. I finally found a parking spot and headed inside. No sooner was I through the door than Uncle Pat called the meeting to order. All thirteen members of the executive committee were there. All told, eighty-four dues-paying members of the Smileyville Township Secret Society of Conservative Democrats were in attendance that Christmas Eve day. They'd all come, evidently, to hear Uncle Pat give his 'farewell speech.'
And give it he did, but the farewell speech turned out to be a fond adieu to the secret society itself! Uncle Pat's speech was brief, and was followed by a series of motions and votes that occurred so quickly that I could barely keep track of what was happening. Here is the upshot: a motion was made and seconded to disband the society. It was approved by unanimous consent. A motion was made and seconded to replace the secret society with the Conservative Democratic Party; this too, passed with unanimous consent. The next thing I knew, a motion was made and seconded to nominate me as the 2012 presidential candidate of the Conservative Democratic Party! I was nominated by acclamation. Before I could quite wrap my head around the fact that I'd just been nominated to run for president, another motion was made and seconded and likewise approved by acclamation, to give me the nomination for 2016 as well!
Merry Christmas to good ol' Markus, eh, Americans?
Everyone was hootin' and hollerin' and calling for me to give an acceptance speech for the 2012 nomination. I took the podium and told them that I could not give them an acceptance speech because I would not be accepting the nomination, not for 2012 or for 2016, either one. Well, Americans, the people in that room were people I know, people I love. And when eighty-three people you know and love are all smiling and happy and you say something that instantly makes them sad and unhappy - and on the day before Christmas, no less - well. I glanced at Uncle Pat, the man who'd set me up for this political ambush. I sighed; six or seven big ones. I looked beyond the members to the far wall, where my four 'friendly spirits' stood smiling and beaming at me. I'd seen them when I'd first entered the hall, talking quietly amongst themselves. Those four ghosts have come to know me about as well as Uncle Pat does. Maybe better. And one thing they all know is that, for all my bluff and bluster, I am what is known as a 'soft touch.' Cripes, Americans, a well-written thirty-second advertisement for long distance telephone service can make me weepy, with thirteen seconds to spare.
I sighed some more. While sighing, my little ol' wheels were turning. I cleared my throat and told the members of the Conservative Democratic Party that, if they would accept a few 'conditions,' then I would accept their nominations. I laid out four conditions. There was some grumbling and sputtering, but when it was clear I wouldn't budge, they accepted all four of them. Then I gave an acceptance speech for the 2012 nomination, off the cuff. I don't mind telling you, Americans, it brought the house down.
So now I am running for president - twice. I am not, you Americans, running for president because I want to be your president. I do not want to be your president anymore, because I have other fish to fry these days - many, many fish, Americans - and I've neither the time nor the inclination to be your president. So why am I running? I'm running because I am a patriot, because I love my country, and because you Americans need me. You don't realize that, yet, but you will.
Americans,