Politically Recollect

I remember the last time I ran for President.

It was a simpler time back then:
The Cronulla Sharks had never won a Rugby League Premiership; It was considered a good thing that burning coal kept us warm; You only had to flick through three TV channels to know nothing good was on; Your wife was arranged by your parents, not on some gimmicky TV show in front of millions of brain-dead people (that includes you, Osher); Osher had a simpler name, with not an umlaut in sight.

It was a three horse race, made simpler about halfway through the campaign when the favourite had to be put down for pulling up lame. Of course, the anti horse racing community were in uproar but to be fair she had had a magnificent life up unto that point and it was the most humane thing to do. 

Who knows how long she would have had to suffer with that nasty cold.

To be fair, at that point in time she was at long odds given civilisation were not yet ready to have a female President. Particularly one that was a horse. And a dark horse at that. 

Despite the naaay-sayers...

Given the state of the economy at the time I had to run my campaign on a tight ship. Despite the flood of votes we picked up from various seamen, it proved a terrible idea as most of the voting population were on land. My running mate contracted scurvy and the Captain of the ship finally lost his battle with seasickness.

But whatever advantage we lost by being at sea, disconnected with the voting public, we gained for the same reason. Our opponent was very outspoken, being very effective in digging large holes with his words.

He was a misogynistic pig, a whale harpoonist, a hair-puller, listened to Nickleback and drove a Volvo while wearing a wide-brimmed hat. We couldn't lose.

Due to the above, the campaign was going great for us. We were miles ahead (or kilometres ahead, for those more familiar with the International System of Units) - it was a race that we seemingly couldn't lose.

Until the unthinkable happened.

I had a disagreement with my mother on the night of the Election - I can't quite recall the details, but it involved Lego, an alleged missing bedroom floor and some uneaten vegetables - and so was banished to my room.

Being absent on the night of the Election proved to big a hurdle to overcome and Dirk won in a landslide. A landslide of Freddo Frogs, Jaffas and Lifesavers (not of the Bondi variety), to be exact, which appealed to the voters sweet tooth's.

And that's how I lost the un-lose-able Election. I never realised my dream to become President, while the people saw a pig elected to the chair for the first time in history. 

Looking at the positives, though I got beaten by a swine, I still managed to flog a dead horse.

In hindsight, I was much too old at 26 to be President of a cubby house anyway.

Cartoon by Ron Acme: The Presidential Tree House