Executive Orders
My fellow Americans, I’m writing to inform you of my son Berdey’s intention to assume the office of president of these United States in 2044, the first year he is eligible.
I’ve been holding off on telling you this news. First off, no one knows the future. There could be a zombie apocalypse or an alien takeover that would render useless our quaint notions of presidential powers. (By the way, real politicians use the word “notion” ad nauseam. I’m looking at you, Obama.) Second, relating how your kid is “gonna be pwesident someday” is a little too cutesy for me.
Berdey is deadly serious about his chosen career path. He has been grilling me on next steps to get to the Oval. I’ve explained that it’s a long slog and that at six, he’s probably already behind the eight ball.
He needs to start joining debate teams and mock Congresses, the Boy Scouts and a few sports teams right now. It wouldn’t hurt to get going on his non-profit, Kidz for Klimate, either. Next year he’ll have to go to a fancy boarding school to learn the value of elitism and psychological punishment, upon graduating from which he must immediately become an Ivy League sellout. He will have to double major in political science and economics (with a minor in Latin, just for kicks), join the rowing team and of course become a member of a secret society that wears hoods and sacrifices virgins.
When he’s not building his new tech startup (WingFlap) or interning for a Native American Congresswoman, he will be permitted on “voluntourism” trips to poverty-stricken areas conveniently located near 5-star resorts. Law school is next of course, followed by a lost period of community activism, a brief but insanely profitable turn in finance at a hedge fund started by one of his secret society bros, and then onto the hallowed halls of the U.S. Senate.
As a senator, he must quickly get on the palm-greasing, glad-handing and back-slapping committees, and catapult to fame via YouTube clips of his filibusters. He will become a media darling, a fundraiser extraordinaire and an inveterate liar. He will find God while on a trip to meet cattle ranchers in Texas. Then and only then can he claim the grand prize of the presidency.
Berdey is undeterred by all the hoop-jumping. He has big, quirky plans for the White House, and the passion to see them through. I would expect nothing less. Please, let me share a few items on his agenda, just so you can plan your campaign donation.
Start a horn instrument museum to collect different horn sounds from around the world.
Make the winter Olympic ski slopes safer. It’s no fun to watch everyone fall.
Make strict laws for St. Patrick’s Day parades: no throwing stuff on the ground, no screaming and no falling while you’re walking (aka, no binge drinking).
Go to the off-limits parts of the Intrepid, and visit any other military ship I want.
Put cameras by every fire alarm to see who pulled it.
Make school lunch all you can eat; kids shouldn’t have to pay extra if they want a hot pretzel.
Berdey has rightly pointed out the honor he would bring to our family if he were president. I would share in his glory as MOPOTUS, bringing my own important platform to the fore (who’s up for a ban on white leggings?). But mostly I hope neither of my kids will become leader of the free world. It’s a hair-whitening, soul-crushing job, and there are so many other ways they can use their talents.
On the other hand, a family dynasty does sounds appealing. I’d finally get my yacht, The Unread Blog, in the water. And just think of all the times I could wear fascinator hats and large broaches. Yes, I think I should resign myself to fate, suck it up, and become the prime confidante to the most powerful person in the world. After all, horn museums and hot pretzels hang in the balance.
Originally posted on Berdey.com
