Seeing as how just about every elected official and Mark Cuban wants them some Oval Office, I asked myself, “Who in the hell would want to be President?” Think about it . . . no matter how good a job you’re doing, half the public hates your guts. Your family has to go deep cover. Your friends have to become expertly versed in the fine art of measured responses. Your hair goes grayer than a Grateful Dead concert tour. You discover that wielding the biggest bat in the global lineup only means that you’re up first on the late night talk shows. I imagine it’s the political equivalent of being married to Kris Jenner.
So I’mma bring some “What It Is” flavor to the Boss job known as President of the United States. Here’s a look at what a Cayman Thorn administration might look like.
First things first- Hire that guy from the Dos Equis commercials to be my Press Secretary.
Stripper pole in the Lincoln Bedroom- It’s in keeping . Seriously, more wild shit has happened in the Southeast corner of the White House than the sassy E.L. James could pen in five novels. Besides, I’m not gonna put a stripper pole in the Oval Office since that would offend my Vice President.
Vice President Vera Farmiga- I would give her executive powers beyond anything a VP has been enlisted with. She could do whatever she wanted to do, whenever she wanted to do it, as many times as she wanted to do it . . over and over and over again. Okay, where was I?
Selfies will be outlawed. If you own a selfie stick, you will be given a grace period in which you can turn it in with no questions asked . . .
Fire the Joint Chiefs and bring in The Expendables- Missions would take ninety minutes, all enemy combatants would be eliminated, zero casualties for us, but plenty of scotch and cigars!
Raid Kim Jong-un’s fridge and distribute the contents to the poor people of North Korea. If the fat fuck has a problem with it, see above.
Legalize marijuana in all 49 states AND Texas- Admittedly, I was on the fence since I don’t smoke it. But then I read where Morgan Freeman takes it for his fibromyalgia and so now I’m on board. I can’t go against my Surgeon General, after all. And oh by the way, Morgan Freeman will serve double duty as my designated speaker at ALL State of the Union addresses. Michael Buffer will introduce him.
(This chica is my drug czar ’cause I’m changing the job description and Charlo doesn’t care about burning bridges, so long as there’s a quality payoff.)
Ronda Rousey heads up my security detail- If you can get to me, then you’re already dead . . so there’s that.
Until Iran stops calling for the annihilation of its enemies, we will only allow them to enrich flour. Which they can use to make cakes, to send to their enemies. And if their enemies don’t drop dead, then we negotiate further. Baby steps.
Jerry Jones has to pay royalties for the phrase “America’s Team”- It works retroactively, so according to my calculations, he’s gonna owe Uncle Sam about nineteen and a half trillion bucks. Bad news for Cowboys fans, but good news for America since that cancels out the national debt AND buys every American a Big Mac. And if you’re a vegetarian? Keep up the good work.
Declare war on China/Or shut down every Wal-Mart in the USA (Either/Or). . .
Free one way airfare for every asshole born in this country who wants to be a jihadist- But you can’t come back here, unless you want to be blown into M&M’s. That’s the deal. Enjoy goat jerky, living in caves and running for your life.
The Rose Garden will be expanded to include a Beer Garden- Press conferences daily. Cover charge applies.
I’d be paying closer attention to Germany’s impressive global biceps, because I don’t feel like playing the “What’s the worst that could happen?” game with these peeps . . . ever, again.
Keep Jack Bauer on speed dial- Because I don’t believe Kiefer Sutherland is a real person. Not for one minute . . .
Pardon Tom Brady- And then give him the Medal of Freedom for having to deal with a tool like Roger Goodell.
Deport Donald Trump- Of course it wouldn’t stick, but it would be funny as shit while it lasted.
Stop declaring war on inanimate objects- The dirty little secret about ‘wars on stuff like drugs and terror is this. Alls it does is increase the budgets of federal agencies with little to no oversight in the tradeoff. Declaring ‘war’ on something sounds really tough, but in reality it achieves bupkis. I vow that I will declare war only on people and places if push comes to shove. I will never declare war on things. Except for emoji’s, which I consider to be a national security threat.
When terrorists strike in another part of the world, I go there personally as a show of strength and support. We can’t just say ‘We’re all in this together’ when it comes to taking on these bastards, we have to show it.
If you’re a state funded institution, you’re not gonna waste our time with lectures on ‘micro-aggression’. You. Just. Aren’t.
Every chance I get, I’m asking Mariah Carey to sing us this song. Preferably with me in attendance . . . just saying.
In the event (when) a scandal engulfs my administration, I promise to be completely transparent. Okay, more like invisible. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just blame . . .shit, I don’t know . . Windows 10?
I have to get in touch with Bill Clinton, ’cause I want him to put together an exploratory committee for my possible run. It gets him out of Hilary’s hair for a while, and it’ll catch me up with the gentleman’s clubs on the Eastern seaboard.
God Bless America. For reals.
(Hey, here’s my campaign song. For the moment . . .)