I am telling you lies because I can’t tell you the truth. If I told you the truth, you would certainly believe I am lying. Confused? We all are; this is political life in America.    William L. Kovacs, the author

My name is Scranton Joe, but just call me Joe. I grew up in a place with coal dust instead of grass in the backyard. The city was built over the coal mines. Its major nighttime tourist attraction was the culm dump. These are huge piles of mining waste that burn incessantly. You can see the glow from miles away. The excitement for the adults living in the area is visiting the local bars. There are several of them on each block. They are usually run-down, dark, and have a sailfish hanging on the wall.

While in my twenties, I become a political gigolo and remained in that profession for life. My first lesson in politics came when my uncle Timmy took me to vote. I was five. The poll worker handing out ballots asked me if I wanted one. Not knowing what to do, I took it. My uncle mumbled, “In this town, you vote early and often and make sure you encourage your dead friends to vote.” I merely said, “Ok.” It was my first political “Ok” of millions.

Life was easy in that coal town. Little was expected, but there was a lot to be learned on how to survive on the labor of others. With few activities for kids, my excitement came when the coal delivery man let me slide down the coal chute onto the pile of coal in the cellar.

The chute sliding was my entry point into political sliding, which can be done without getting dirty if you know how to do it. Political sliding involves taking money, lying to voters, and most of all, believing your own press releases so you are confident of your importance

Politics is well-paying, easy work since the slide is all engineered by people very good at manipulating other people. They are called “Puppeteers,” and they give people acting roles at the “Puppet Playhouse.” All I have to do is read the script they give me. Sometimes, someone reads it into my ear, and I just repeat the words.

Politics isn’t heaven on earth; it’s better. To get to heaven, one has to be good, whereas one can succeed in politics without any goodness in your soul. This allowed me to assert my Catholicism while advocating for abortion. I was told George Orwell called this “Doublethink,” the power to simultaneously hold two contrary beliefs in one’s mind and accept both as true. The first time someone told me my pronouncements were “Doublethink,” I took it as a compliment. I thought “Doublethink” was having twice as many smarts as others.

With this stellar upbringing, I conquered the world. At 29, I rose from the county council to the U.S. Senate, that august body that pontificates in Washington, D.C., and on cable TV about all matters of insignificance to ordinary people. The Senate where I work is believed to be the continuous successor to the Senate of ancient Rome. Fortunately, I bypassed the Plebeian Council, now called the House of Representatives. The common people are, let’s say, common, just common. After all, I am able to “Doublethink.”

Once ensconced in power and prestige, it is easy to keep it. The puppeteers know who is important and who isn’t, so all get their just due, depending on their place in society. Millionaires get more “just due” since they are worth more than plebs. Honestly speaking, in politics, the puppeteers raise whatever money I need. It benefits me, but it also benefits them since they get most of the money to spread around to the media, consultants, friends, and political allies.  But I get a lot, but I don’t count it, which allows me to tell anyone, “I know nothing of who supports this gigolo.”

Considering I never made more than $200,000 over three decades in the Senate, I somehow made millions in Washington. Everything a Senate friend told me was true. He told me, “Joe when you are in the Senate, everything good will happen to you. You will get the best deal on everything. You will be invited, as a silent partner, into the best real estate deals. Your kids will be awarded scholarships to the best schools. Life is good, so stay in the Senate as long as you can. God protects Senators and idiots, and you are both.”

My friend was very right. After helping a few banks, a builder gave me a special deal on a beautiful lake house that I could never have afforded. Eventually, I could afford a beautiful beach house thanks to my son, who is the smartest person in the world. He split the mortgage payments with me and gave me some extra spending money as payback for all the money I gave him when he needed to buy drugs. I can only say, “Thank God he did not use fentanyl, which kills people. That drug must be reserved for the ordinary people who are willing to die.”

My son is now a very prominent energy advisor to China, Russia, and Ukraine. He makes millions from them. He invests his money wisely.  He is a premier customer of the Mexican drug cartels, so he and his family are protected guests when he is sober. And he brings so many beautiful escorts to Delaware that the state is planning on starting a Ms. Amtrack contest. And the motel association plans to start the “cheap room for hookers award” in his honor.

My real joy in life was being a committee chairman in the Senate. I could mistreat witnesses, but they had to be polite to me. And, I mean polite, so I don’t stick bombs up their employer’s ass. My only bad day occurred as I was mistreating a Supreme Court nominee. That guy had the guts to talk back to me and the votes to get on the court. I should have remembered my friend’s second lesson, “never pick on anyone that might fight back.” That justice still picks on me decades after he should have forgiven me. So now, I am picking on his wife.

This all leads to the fact that I have been selected to be President of the United States, not elected. Some call the position “POTUS,” which sounds very “Roman emperoree.”  I wanted this position my whole life. It rounds out my resume, and better still, it allows me to become a partner in a big law firm when I am done being POTUS. Those partner guys make good money, and most don’t have to rely on their sons for kickbacks. They have cleaner businesses. What is it the Godfather says, “One lawyer with a briefcase can steal more than a hundred men with guns…” Thanks to my son, I never had to personally steal, but he may go to jail, so I need to think about my future way to make a living.

If my son goes to jail, I have three options to keep the money flowing. I could pardon him? The attorney general could cut a great plea deal, so he finishes his life on a Jack Nicklaus golf course with weekend privileges with his ladies. Or, I could take out a huge life insurance policy on his life and have the attorney general send him to the same jail cell that held Epstein. Of course, he would be guarded by the same guards.

My selection as POTUS was quite interesting. I was running for president in the Democratic primary. I could not get 2% of the vote. OK, I exaggerate, 1%. But I lived under lucky stars. The other candidates were worse, except for some old fart from a state outside Canada. The puppeteers and Wall-Streeters hated the old fart. They were afraid if he got elected, he might actually do something, like tax the wealthy or stop the flow of free federal money to the banks. He was so stubborn on income redistribution; he represented a threat to the political elites, or as we call them, the criminally immune class. He might have even made my son pay taxes on all his foreign income. That would have disrupted my lifestyle.

So here is what happened. During a break in one of the candidate debates, I was asked by a powerful congressman if I wanted to be president. I told him, “Yes, if the Pope is catholic. I would do anything to become president.” So, we made a deal. The congressman wanted a woman to be president, and I wanted to be president. The women running against me in the primary actually had fewer supporters than me, like 0%. She was a real loser, an almost impossible-to-find candidate. She was probably the only person in the world I could actually beat.

I asked, “How can you make both of us POTUS?” Easy replied the congressman, “I am going to make the prophecy of the 38^th POTUS come true. All the candidates will drop out of the race, and you will win by default. You will select a women vice president. The bad part of the prophecy is that during your presidency, you will die, and the women will become president. That is non-negotiable.”

“Wow,” I said, “That is going too far. I just got my beach house and plan to use it for a while. Is there a compromise?” The congressman asked what I might be willing to do. “That’s easy,” I said, “how about the VP and I have a fundamental disagreement … based on a moral principle, [and] I develop some disease and say I have to resign.”

“Not as clean as dying, but it will do,” replied the Congressman. “You’re it, the next president. All you need do is sit in your basement and eat ice cream during the campaign. Wine is also acceptable, but your son must go into hiding until after the election. We’ll get him plenty of girls, drugs, and a video crew to film his antics, but he must stay in hiding. Maybe in Mexico. The drug lords have better security than you will have at the White House.”

I returned to the debate and mumbled as little as possible that night. All thought I did a miserable job, but the plebs did not know I was selected as the next president. So much for all those stupid people in the world who believe in democracy.

After the debate ended and I went to Turn Style Records and purchased “Hail to the Chief.” My wife and I listened to it until the early morning. I wish it had words so we could sing along as we walk on the beach. Then everyone would know I am POTUS. That would be better than closing the beach like that fat governor did to prove his importance.

That’s the story of me becoming POTUS. Unfortunately, in the months remaining, I have been given a few more orders by the puppeteers. I get one more month of playing president for each instruction I complete. That is also a dilemma for me. I like my beach house more than the White House, but I really like the room service at the White House, and the expense account is fabulous. My wife can throw all the parties she wants and does not have to ask our son for money. Since there are roughly thirty months left of my presidency, I will comply with the puppeteers and complete ten orders for ten extra months as POTUS. I picked ten orders since Moses gave us 10 Commandments. I like Moses so I will issue 10 Executive Orders:

1. The U.S. will become a New Green Republic. Everything will be painted green for those Green New Deal psychotics. This will prove I keep my promises.
2. All human beings on the planet will immediately be given United States citizenship.
3. The cost to feed and shelter all these humans will be graciously paid for by the current citizens of the United States.
4. Any police officer who ever arrested an illegal immigrant that committed a crime will be hung in the public square at dawn.
5. The U.S. Supreme Court will be expanded to 1001 friends of that crazy lady from the Bronx so she shuts up.
6. Congress must rewrite the First Amendment to read, “Conservatives shall not speak, or believe in any religion.”
7. The money presses shall print money until there is no more paper and ink.
8. Since God told me the meek are to inherit the earth and the rich presently own it, the solution is to eliminate the meek, so they have no claim on the earth.
9. Capitalism is ordered to be dead; humans are to be extinct, and the planet is to return to nature in twelve years to satisfy that crazy lady from the Bronx.
10. Our military shall surrender to China at 6 PM tonight, PST after my son receives his final bonus from the Chinese Communist Party (“CCP”). All U.S. military equipment is to be immediately destroyed unless the CCP can use it to enslave more people.

 

Most importantly for my reputation, I do not want the plebs to know my disease is fake, but I do want the largest funeral procession ever staged. Since I will be still alive and just resting in the coffin, I will have my eyes on the attendees. Some dumbass chief minister in the Tamil Nadu region of India had 15 million people gather for his funeral. I want at least 100 million people, which should be easy by rounding up all those people illegally in the U.S. My AG will threaten them with deportation or put their children in cages if they don’t comply. If necessary, the new POTUS, who was previously the Border Czar, could again ask her friends in the Wall-Streeters drug cartels for help.

The drug cartels will likely dress up as border patrol agents to capture the illegals and return them to Mexico. On second thought, since the drug cartels only made a billion dollars a month, the U.S. could have easily solved the illegal immigration issue by paying the drug dealers $2 billion a month to stop trafficking the illegals. It would have been cheaper for the U.S. in the long run, and the cartels could sell all their drugs to the rich attendees of the World Elite Forum, whatever it is called. But luckily, the illegals are here; we need them to attend my funeral.

When all of the pomp and circumstance is over, I will secretly get out of my coffin, kiss the first woman president, and apologize to my son for not being able to help him any longer.

My final action when the curtain closes will be to blow a kiss to the audience at the Puppet Playhouse. When the audience stands to applaud me for a great performance, the puppeteer will publicly remove his hand from my mouth, and the world will know I am merely a puppet controlled by others.

 

William L. Kovacs has served as senior vice-president for the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, chief counsel to a congressional committee, and a partner in law D.C. law firms, and his book Reform the Kakistocracy is the winner of the 2021 Independent Press Award for Political/Social Change. His second book, The Left’s Little Red Book on Forming a New Green Republic is a collection of quotes from the Left on how to control society by eliminating capitalism, people, and truth.