Well, the poll numbers just refuse to budge. I am still trapped in the low single digits. By which I mean single digits of a single point, like .001 or some shit like that. I’m no mathematician, but those don’t seem like good odds to me. If my fucking numbers drop any lower, I will be in the negatives. This means that not only will no one vote for me, but they will be having children for the sole purpose of voting for the other candidates. I suppose I could feel good about increasing the rate of sexual intercourse, but with the planet facing a population crisis, I’m having a difficult time taking much pleasure in this accomplishment, especially after I finished jerking off while thinking about it.
I have since come to the conclusion that it is time to take off the gloves. By which I mean telling horrible lies about my political opponents. I am a generally honest fellow. The few times I have stolen shit were because I was hungry. For example, I once wanted some Big Macs and only had enough money for one. What could I do but rob a pawn shop of a gun, go to McDonald’s, and threaten to shoot the knees of the manager unless he gave me all the Big Macs I wanted? I really had no choice. Also, I never lie unless I absolutely have to in order to avoid jail time. I don’t even break the speed limit, because if I ever get pulled over, the cop will find out about all those outstanding warrants. So you see, I’m an upstanding citizen with nothing to hide.
But I also want to win.
So I’ve decided to take the low road. Again, left with no option. It’s not my fault. And, so, let the lies commence! I’m relying on you to spread these lies until they turn into viral rumors that impact the election cycle and turn it to my favor.
There. This ought to work for now. Hopefully these small little falsehoods will find their way into the consciousness of the electorate and turn them in my direction. Here are some positive lies to tell your voting friends about me.
Spread these little nuggets around and I have no doubt that my poll numbers will shoot right through the goddamn roof.
Thank you, my faithful supporter. (I love you, Jerry!)
Craig A. Hart writes shit. Sometimes it’s less shitty. Sometimes he thinks it might be good shit. He is the stay-at-home father of twin boys, has served as editor-in-chief for The Rusty Nail literary magazine and as manager for Sweatshoppe Media. He is the host of the Raw Writing Podcast. He lives in Iowa City with his wife, sons, and two cats. You can visit his personal website at: craigahart.com.