Harvey for President! Let him earn his living

I’m not talking about our native-born American wolves: a superior type of dog that never depended on government handouts. I’m talking about immigrant dogs that arrive here without documents, due to lax immigration enforcement, and now overcrowd our shores, and all the spaces between them. The shores, I mean. Not the spaces between the dogs.

Back in the Good Old Days, before the arrival of the Conquistadors, or as we call them, Pilgrims, Americans had just two types of dogs: the noble wolf, who knew enough to hide out from humans and scoot away; and the chihuahua, who knew his place: to be coddled and fattened and eaten.

Chief among the destroyers of this idyllic state of being was the loony-left instigator of all that is rotten in America today: Thomas Jefferson, a bibulous importer of intoxicating drugs on a grand scale*, who had the nerve to criticize — criticize? Nay, lambast and unjustly attack — our glorious King George III, by accusing our hereditary and anointed Lord of “obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; [and] refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither.”

“Encourage their migrations hither,” Tom? Where’d you learn that clever bit of subversion, “Mister Open-Borders”? Our so-called third president? In some British Soviet?

I know where you got that campaign slogan, Tom. From your so-called “Declaration of Independence.”

And as for your first objection, in that impertinent press release, to our recently insane but allegedly recovered King, Commoner Tom, you wrote: “He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.”

What are you talking about here, Tom? Flintlock musket control?

What was your original intent?

Tom, Tom, Tom. Where did you go wrong? Was it reading too much? Was it traveling overseas to that immoral, horrid country: France? Or was it your love for that Black girl who bore your children?

Love, Tom? What is love?

(Bob: This is Human Resources. For the last time: The world is not interested in, and does not want to know about, your speculations about other people’s lives. Just get on with it, Bob. Restrict your comments to what happened yesterday: today’s news. Our readers do not eagerly await the latest update on Nero, or Caligula, or Ulysses S. Grant. They want to know what’s happening now. We have been more than generous with you, Bob. I am sure you will recall that we covered your legal expenses from the libel trial about the strategic helium reserve. And for the Nth time, Bob, no photos. Do not submit photographs with your articles. Bone up on the law, Bob. Or, perhaps I should have said … (here the papyrus is torn.))

Hi! It’s me again, Bob. I seem to have got some computer programs crossed — email, or whatever they call it; I’m still learning; it seems rather complicated — but speaking of dogs, I believe that the best candidate for president of the United States in 2024 would be a dog.

Let facts be submitted to a candid world:

Every would-be Republican candidate for the presidential nomination is already a slavering dog, scared to death of a vicious, rabid chihuahua.

And every would-be Democratic candidate is a typical Democratic dog: circling ‘round and around and around before he … lies down.

So here is my proposal: Nominate Harvey the bloodhound, on a fourth-pawty ticket, and elect him as president of the United States.

For six years now, U.S. politics has been based upon hatred: Our Guy Hates Those People, and tells his clones to Hate Them Too, and beat them up, and kill them.

Our country today also is coming to be founded upon ignorance.

O! Did we ever do anything bad to our Black slaves? Better not tell white kids about it.

No — even better! — make it illegal to tell schoolkids about it.

Harvey will put an end to this losers’ game.

Why, it’s got to the point that sooner or later we may elect a president who hates dogs.

Oh, wait: We already did, not that long ago.

Sure, me ‘n’ Harvey were caught on-camera in an intimate moment. But so what? We did it in the light of day, at the dog park, and we’re proud of it. How many major-party candidates could say the same? Or say what they really think, and do what they do, in the light of day?

* Thomas Jefferson imported 20,000 bottles of wine from France to the United States as he returned from that country as our de facto ambassador, and left them in the basement of the White House, surely with the intent to intoxicate future presidents. Premature death, where was thy sting?