PoliTricks or Parlor Tricks?

**This is my first official Reprint, something I won't be making a habit of. As this is timely for the moment, I thought I might put it out there for the world outside of my little piece of paradise**

Morty 10/08


Here we are already in the fall of 2008 with another presidential election looming on the horizon.
WAIT!
I know what you’re thinking, but before you turn the page let me take a moment and happily plagiarize myself. Take a journey back in time with me to just over a year ago. Forest Hills Celebrity & Entertainment has just reached its one-year milestone. On page twenty-two, a guy who reluctantly goes by the name of Morty introduces himself in his very first magazine column, making a promise (similar to that of your run of the mill politician) to “keep this space lighthearted, a place of refuge…would rather not discuss politics.”
I still adhere to that, steadfastly ignoring the inundation of radio, print and TV ads during this otherwise pleasant time of year. Recently however, I came across an article that inadvertently caught my attention.
Pet owners prefer McCain over Obama.
WHAT!?
Is this all it takes nowadays to reach the coveted top rung of the ladder?
Doesn’t anyone recall our days of yore when a parent’s greatest aspiration was to see his or her child strive for the presidency?
“Do all of your homework and study hard or you’ll never become President,” was the common threat.
Did any kid really dream of actually being President one day? No one in my close-knit circle of friends ever had. This begs the question, what kind of circles do you have to travel in to meet someone with such purposeful ambition? The names, Biff and Muffy come immediately to mind.
All right, that’s a grossly unfair cliché, but I just couldn’t resist.
When did being a pet owner become some kind of presidential prerequisite? I would think that being a parent might hold a bit more presidential precedence.
Are there different levels pertaining to presidential pet ownership?
Does your dog obey?
Can he do tricks, catch a Frisbee?
Maybe that’s a bit too Democratic. Let’s try something Republican.
Does he fetch your slippers, get the paper?
Is there some type of presidential pet chain of command?
Would a dog owner make a better leader than a cat lover? Dogs take more work to train and require constant companionship, while cats are more independent.
Fish don’t count!
A close friend of mine used to drop a line into his five-gallon aquarium to see if they would bite.
They didn’t. Tropical fish are above that.
He wouldn’t have made a good president.
I was once a pet owner! Do hamsters count?
I’ve gone through four in recent years. Teddy, my first guy was of the longhaired Teddy Bear variety.
I know.
The name wasn’t very original.
He used to love to eat Fruit Loops, Frosted Flakes and other high Sugar content cereals. It broke my heart when his two-year lifespan came to an abrupt end in just under six months. Raising pets is a learning process, something I’ve since mastered. As a result, Teddy’s successor’s fared just fine.
I’m also the proud parent of a five-year-old son.
I know; kids don’t count!
He doesn’t want to be president, which is a shame. Recently elected Student of the Day at school, he’s off to such a promising start. Local residents may have seen his picture hanging in Starbucks where he was Customer of the Month at the age of four.
Apparently, raising children is also a learning process.
I could never be President.
To begin with, I’m just not old enough. I also don’t own a real suit, and just barely get by tying a tie.
I’m an exceptionally fussy eater, which could prove problematic while traveling abroad.
I can’t dance.
In the past, it would usually take a good number of drinks to get me anywhere near the dreaded wood floor. I shudder to think how the media might treat this. I can see my picture splashed across the front page in my faux-suit and crooked tie, eyes bloodshot from just enough champagne flutes to get me in position for an old-fashioned high society waltz. I have no business at such formal affairs. I have no clue where the salad fork belongs in the scheme of things, or which fork is actually the salad fork to begin with. I don’t like salad anyway. I can, however eat meat AND potatoes with the same fork!
I have a record.
I don’t know how far back they go with these background checks, but my Second Grade trip to the Principal’s office would certainly not bode well.
I have lousy handwriting, and an even worse signature. I can almost hear the congressional snickering every time a bill would require my John Hancock.
Finally, relocation to the D.C. area is just not an option. Both my wife and I have decent jobs here, and are relatively content in the cramped little space we call home. She recently acquired her driver’s license and thoroughly enjoys getting behind the wheel. A demotion to passenger status in the back of a stretch limo would probably make her crazy. I tend to defer to her, as she is the primary decision maker in our house, similar to that of ex President…
Whoa!
I almost went back on my original promise right there (similar to your run of the mill politician). I’ll quit now while I’m ahead, and spare you my political views, except one. Should I accidentally indulge in a few too many champagne flutes this New Year’s Eve; resulting in the appearance of my name on some future political ballot somewhere, ignore it.
At least until I’ve been upgraded to dog owner status!