MR WRONG: Electoral college dropout
Indignity Vol. 4, No. 127
COLUMN DEP’T.
MR WRONG: Don't Even Think About Making Me President of The United States of America (POTUS)
SO THE PRESIDENT of The United States of America (POTUS) made a speech on teevee last night all about how he can’t make it work, in terms of getting reelected, and whatever about the speech, they'd already sent out a letter about it and errbody knows what time it is, and mostly it’s time to move the fuck on, nationwise. Here at the Mr. Wrong column I try to lay off the Politics and Important stuff because if you are even a poorly informed consumer of Media, you are fed to the teeth with that shit. “Brighten the Corner Where You Live,” I always say, because there are so very many other people making it poorly lit, dim and dirty, you know? It’s like an Ethos or something, eh? Step into the Light, Poltergeist!
Meanwhile though, can you even imagine being The President of The United States of America (POTUS)? I sure can, and fuck that! Every goddamn day of your Presidential existence, you are The President of The United States of America (POTUS). No breaks! Nothing is Normal! You are no longer a Human Being! You just, like, OK, thinking you are a Normal Person, you wake up and think about maybe some coffee or something, but no, you are The President of The United States of America (POTUS)! There’s all this shit happened while you were unconscious, stackin’ Zs like some kinda civilian, all this stuff went down, and you gotta have a Statement or an Address or something! Get to work! There’s something that matters about what you say or do right now about whatever the fuck happened anywhere on the Planet Earth—which you are not even the President of—and also, any shit that happened in Outer Space! On other fucking worlds, for fuck’s sake! Mars and shit! The Moon, even! I know, not a planet, and if I was The President of The United States of America (POTUS) some enterprising goon in the Free Press would roast my Presidential hindquarters for referring to a satellite as a planet, Jesus H. Goddamn Christmas in July.
Speaking of which, every single stupid little Holiday, you (the President of The United States of America [POTUS]) gotta utter some sorta whatever about the Holiday and how it is good and nice while avoiding mentioning that personally you might not give a flying fuck about the birthday of a baby god or some other preposterous bushwa because otherwise you will offend somebody or polarize something that was I guess nicely going along being depolarized?
I dunno, these are among the many reasons you gotta either be: 1. The Ultimate Civil Servant, or B, a deluded multi-batshit-type individual, to want to be The President of The United States of America (POTUS).
When you are The President of The United States of America (POTUS), and your goddamn stupid shit dog bites somebody, you ain’t just got a normal-ass bad dog who don’t like the Postal Carrier or the UPS person, freaked out by uniforms, no, your Presidential mutt bites somebody, you gotta have an Official Response! There’s an Investigation! It’s in the goddamn newspaper!
You gotta pay money to some Highly Educated pain-and-bullshit-absorbing Employee to go stand behind a Lectern and smooth it all out so we can talk about the Infrastructure and the Agriculture bill or something. Ye Gods of Ancient Rome, seriously, where is the sweet release of The Reaper? Take me away, Calgon.
I never ever daydream about, like, “If I was The President of The United States of America (POTUS), what I'd do is—” because holy moley, it would be Bad. I would be grouchy and there would be no Turkey Pardon or Oval Egg Roll on the fucking West Lawn or whatever the fuck, and damn skippy no fucking goddamn greeting and photo-op with the latest stupid fucking Sports collective, a buncha fucking millionaires for fuck’s sake, who just won a shiny trophy for playing with a goddamn ball, or a stick, I don’t care! Get out of my house! Jesus H. Hornblower Incorporated, are you kidding me? I have to work in an office that’s connected to my house! Except there’s all these strangers up in there crawlin’ around, who claim to work for me, and even so, most of them think I am a piece of Political Sellout Soulless Power-Sucking Garbage Shit Crap! The Enemy is Within! How am I supposed to get a good night’s sleep? Every fucking day!
Even Saturday morning, when a normal person might wanna sleep in and stuff, oy vey, your eyes open and there’s a person wearing a name tag who’s got the Nuclear Electronic Retaliatory Football (NERF), sitting there in your room staring at you. Fucking fuck my fucking life, because of The Enemy, I got this bozo with The Football, and I’m supposed to work it, the Football? I did not get elected to do this crap! I can’t even work goddamn Google Maps correctly to get the route into my phone! Where did it go? I texted it to the fucking phone from my desktop computer and then I get in the car and there’s nothing on the phone, so I gotta put all the info in again! Why do I even use the goddamn Google? Also it won’t let me share this Google Docs doc I wrote about the dog! Why am I driving? I need help!
So, like, A Certain Type of Person, right? Who wants this job? So they can be Famous? Have a Legacy? Tell me all The Presidents of The United States of America (POTUS) you can remember, and then tell me if they were wonderful Legacy-type individuals, jeez. Plus, I mean, forget about the current President of The United States of America (POTUS) who has excused themself from another term on account of they are geezin’, totally fair. On my best day I would not want to be The President of The United States of America (POTUS), I would want a pistol, and then I would grab that Atomic Football and run! Let’s go! I can’t take it! I’m sick of this shit! Football!!!
In closing, my Fellow Americans, I salute the The Presidents of The United States of America (non-POTUS), the only ones who really matter to me, because they have given me hours of pleasant Good Times, musically. Thank you.
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The MR. WRONG COLUMN is a general-interest column appearing weekly. No refunds. Write Wrong: wrongcolumn@gmail.com.
WEATHER REVIEWS
New York City, July 24, 2024
★★ People were sitting out on stoops despite a minor spatter of raindrops. The air out the front door smelled like sweat, and the clouds proper trailed off into a dangling mist. After lunch in an upstairs room with ceiling-fan currents stirring the air conditioning, stepping into the stairwell leading to the open door to the street felt like entering a stifling closet. After more than a mile of walking uptown in the partly emerged sunlight, the blast of cold air from the medical center doors hit the unevaporated sweat like a bucket of frigid water. A few hours later, the sun was fully covered and the dampness was still in place. Softball players traipsed toward the ballfields. A Democratic political club had wrapped its flag around a tree and was having a picnic.
EASY LISTENING DEP'T.
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SANDWICH RECIPES DEP'T.
WE PRESENT INSTRUCTIONS in aid of the assembly of a sandwich selected exactly as published from Mrs. Ericsson Hammond's Salad Appetizer Cook Book, by Maria Matilda Ericsson Hammond. Published in 1924, and now in the Public Domain and available at archive.org for the delectation of all.
Turkey Livers aux Tomatoes à la Maydell
Foies de Dindes aux Tomates à la Maydell
For Six Persons
Four chicken livers [Ed. note: The title says "turkey," the text says "chicken"; direct all inquiries for clarification to Mrs. Ericsson Hammond], two even-sized tomatoes, six slices of bread, two tablespoons of grated horseradish, three tablespoons of butter, some water cress, pepper and salt to taste, and some truffles.
How to Make It. Fry the chicken livers in butter, season them with pepper and salt and some wine if at hand. Cut them in even pieces, one for each sandwich. Cut the bread in round pieces with a large biscuit cutter. Put the tomatoes in hot water and remove the skin, cutting them in slices, three from each. Chop part of the water cress, leaving part of it for decoration; mix with it the grated horseradish and the chopped chicken livers and then mix it with two tablespoons of butter. Spread the mixture thick on the round slices of bread and put on top of them slices of tomato and on top of the tomato in the center of each sandwich put the chicken livers. Color the rest of the butter with the orange coloring, put it in a small paper tube and decorate it with a circle on top of the liver and all around the tomato decorate with some diamonds of truffles. Arrange them in the form of a ring on a platter with the water cress in the center.
If you decide to prepare and attempt to enjoy a sandwich inspired by this offering, be sure to send a picture to indignity@indignity.net.
MARKETING DEP'T.
Supplies are really and truly running low of the second printing of 19 FOLK TALES, still available for gift-giving and personal perusal! Sit in the crushing heat with a breezy collection of stories, each of which is concise enough to read before the thunderstorms start.
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