richardcahill.net

Houston, You Have A Problem

5/28/2015

The state of Texas today refused to accept any federal aid for rescue and rebuilding after parts of the state were ravaged by epic flooding. In a press conference, the state's governor announced:

"Just two weeks ago I was pandering to my constituents by ordering the Texas National Guard to monitor a planned military exercise in our proud state because some of them are slobbering idiots who believed that this exercise, which takes place regularly, was a prelude to a takeover of the state by the federal government,." Governor Greg Abbott said. "Instead of pointing out that Texas already falls under the authority of the federal government and has since we got our noble Confederate asses handed to us in the Civil War, I went along with this unfounded fantasy and pretended to be on the lookout for a plot to impose a socialist dictatorship on Texas by force. As such, it would be the rankest hypocrisy for me to request any help from Washington in pumping Houston dry.

"In particular, don't send any vehicles marked with the insignia of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, or FEMA. Texans firmly believe that the primary mission of FEMA is to build concentration camps in which Christian, gun-owning, gay-marriage opposing, non-socialist Americans will be imprisoned once Obama gets his New World Order ducks in a row. I guarantee you that your average freedom-loving Texan will dive into his flooded basement, grope for his submerged weapon in the swirling, murky flood waters and, however soggy his ammo, start open carrying vigilantly against any attempted incursion by FEMA. We don't care if you FEMA types have a sump pump the size of a Saturn rocket. Keep it to yourself. And you can keep your emergency bottles of fresh water, blankets and flashlights, too.

"To my fellow Texans who say to this, 'Hey, wait a minute. Our tax dollars paid for all those rescue choppers and amphibious vehicles and emergency shelters. Why shouldn't we use them?' I reply, we don't need them, because we have the power of prayer. You recall the example of the proud Governor before me, Rick Perry, who urged us all topray for the end of the drought we were having during his term in office. Well, we have only to look at Houston, which today looks like the Amazon basin, complete with piranhas flooded out of their aquariums and the occasional alligator, to see how powerfully God has answered those prayers. So now, my fellow Texans, I urge you to get on your knees, cast your eyes reverently to the rainclouds above you, AND PRAY TO GET OUR GOL-DURN DROUGHT BACK!"

Then I woke up and realized I had dreamed the entire press conference. Should have known it the second a politician started apologizing for being a hypocrite.

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The Scourge of White-on-White Crime

5/25/2015

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Recent events in Waco, Texas involving an OK-Corral style shootout involving two biker gangs have once again focused the nation on the widely ignored phenomena of white-on-white crime.

Too often hidden in the shadows and generally disregarded by mass media, white-on-white crime is America's secret shame. Too many of us just say to ourselves, in a fashion which we should just frankly admit is racist, "Those people are animals. They deserve what happens to them. It's only a matter of time before they all end up dead or in prison."

That's just ignoring the root causes of white-on-white predation. Both the victims and the perpetrators of these crimes likely grew up on the mean streets of some non-gated suburban neighborhood. Often raised in homes where the father was absent, due to abandonment or imprisonment or his just spending all his time in the garage with a second-hand fridge full of Miller Genuine Draft, these faceless white youths just migrated towards the biker gang lifestyle. Many were forced to attend some of the worst junior colleges in the country, in shabby classrooms presided over by apathetic professors who had just given up on them, in a classic illustration of our failed educational system. Rootless and jobless because, let's face it, no one is going to hire you to sell shoes at Nordstrom's after you've shaved your head and tattooed an Iron Cross on your scalp, these young men drift into gang life at the tender age of twenty-six or seven. Subjected to a grinding cycle of poverty their whole lives, many of them, after buying an expensive motorcycle, multiple guns and lots of ammo, plus the requisite customized leather wardrobe, barely have enough money left over for an iPhone.

Once ensconced in the subculture, there's no escape except by the grave. Congregating in places where crystal meth is plentiful, beer in eighteen-packs is cheap and guns are everywhere (in other words, places like Texas), these Caucasian criminals own the streets, or at least the parking lots, especially the parking lots of places like Twin Peaks, the notorious breastaurant where the Waco guns blazed. "Wait a second," I hear you saying. "Aren't these white-on-white criminals supposed to be hanging out at clammy little strip bars where even the carpeting smells like a yeast infection? Or biker joints with a Harley-Davidson logo on every flat surface? What are they doing at Twin Peaks? I JUST HAD THE CHICKEN-FRIED STEAK THERE LAST WEEK!"

I hear you. And, more importantly, the management at Twin Peaks hears you. I guarantee you that right now the executive board of that dining establishment chain is birthing a bovine, or possibly excreting a unit of masonry, in response to the massacre on its premises, because they sure don't want to lose the business of all the white guys who barely have the nerve to sneak away from their wives for a chance to ogle some 19-year old waitress in a pushup bra, let alone the cajones to shoot it out with the Pagans.

But I digress. What I am saying is these are problems to be addressed. They are not just confined to Waco, although I admit the place is a hotbed of mass killings. Remember the Branch Davidians shooting at the ATF and the feds burning their compound to the ground in retaliation in '93? Talk about white-on-white violence!

No, the answer is not longer prison sentences and more police. Early intervention is crucial. Diversionary programs have been shown to be successful. One pilot program targeted first offenders by confiscating their Harleys, and handing them the keys to a moped instead. The gang members participating in this initiative instantly terminated their affiliation with their fellow outlaws.

Turns out they didn't want to be seen with each other

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My Campaign Picks Up Steam

5/25/2015

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I'm bald, and I fish, just like our national bird. What more reason do you need to vote for me?

I want to assure my supporters that my campaign for the Republican nomination for President is gaining momentum. Pay no attention to my detractors, who say I am merely making noise about running for President while pursuing my usual lazy practice of barbecuing and sampling microbrews most days. To them I say, it's Memorial Day weekend—everybody is doing that!

To prove I have been thinking about the big issues, my think tank has developed some political positions that are guaranteed to galvanize Republican primary voters everywhere into supporting my candidacy. Just listen up, GOP guys and girls, and you'll soon be forgetting Bobby Jindal forever! Although maybe you already have.

I will solve global warming by neither confirming nor denying it, but instead embracing it. My slogan on climate change will be It's a Warm Morning in America, and it will focus on the bright side of heating up the planet. Once climate change has turned the western US into a new Dust Bowl, you won't have to drive your RV nearly as far to camp in the desert. And rising seas means closer surf spots! Enjoy!

Evolution will still be taught in public schools, but so will Creationism, and all other religious origin theories, including Buddhist, Ba'hai and Hindu ones. Special attention will be paid to the tribal origin legends of the Native Americans, many of whom believe that Creation sits on the back of a giant turtle, which fell from the sky and smashed the previous big turtle to bits, and will one day be replaced by another giant tortoise that will fall from the heavens, crush us all and usher in another new Creation, so when your kids start insisting on wearing their bicycle helmets at all times and start looking anxiously at the sky for signs of a giant reptile carapace, you'll know they have been paying attention in science class.

I will say I am going to repeal Obamacare, then when I am elected, I will say "Wow, look how many people have that stuff! How did that happen?" and then let it be. All the other Republican candidates will do this too, if elected, but I am the only one who will admit it upfront.

I will heal America's racial divide by being a white President, just like all the other Presidents before me except the current one, who caused America's racial divide by only being half-white.

I am 100% pro-life, and unlike my fellow Republicans I don't offer namby-pamby solutions to the scourge of abortion, like making people listen to fetal heartbeats instead of the satanic rock and roll or the explicit rap lyrics they were enjoying when they got pregnant in the first place. In my America, anyone who wants to stop an abortion will be legally able do so by offering to adopt the unborn child of the abortionee and raise it themselves, because I believe that what all Americans who want to deny women the right to have an abortion really want is a brain-damaged crack baby they can call their own.

Navy Seals everywhere anytime anyone pisses me off. ISIS especially, but this also includes France.

Massive increases in Social Security, Medicare and agricultural aid. I intend to own the poor old farmer vote. You heard me, Iowa voters.

I will balance the budget. And I will figure out a way to make the Chinese pay for it.

A sensible energy policy is the key to America's future, and so is a strong entrepreneurial economy, so anyone who can show two forms of government-issued ID will be allowed to frack for oil anywhere they want.

I also promise to do a quick dance step and give myself a double thumbs-up every time they play "Hail to the Chief" when I enter the room, because governing is about style as well as substance. And since I will be a Republican President, I will need a vacation White House , like Reagan had in Santa Barbara and Bush II had in Texas.

I already have mine picked out. It's in Cabo.

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Gay Kills

5/18/2015

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Sure, they throw a nice parade, but can they drive a train?*

According to conservative radio host Sandy Rios, Amtrak engineer Brandon Bostian’s sexual orientation was “a factor” in Tuesday's train derailment that killed eight people and injured more than 200. Right-wing news sites have hastened to point out that Bostian, who campaigned against California’s ban on same-sex marriage, appears to be gay.

“I am not inferring to [sic] those of you who are gay rights activists and who like to monitor this show, I’m not inferring that this accident happened because he was gay,” said Rios, who hosts “Sandy Rios In The Morning” on American Family Radio. “But I do think it’s an interesting part of the story, and I bet it will be edited out.”

News item.

This courageous woman is the only one in America to date who has zeroed in on what may be the cause of the fatal Amtrak derailment in Philadelphia last week. The possibility that the man at the controls of the train was having a gay hissy at the time of the accident had not been raised by any newshounds prior to Ms. Rios's bold speculation.

Ms. Rios went on to substantiate her story by relating a tale about someone she knew who was taking some kind of hormone therapy at the time he was working for some airline and somehow endangered his airplane and all the people aboard it at sometime in the past.

This is the sort of solid buttressing of inescapable facts that any former FOX contributor, which Sandy can claim to be on her resume, is capable of. The fact that the engineer's sexuality will be edited out of the story is no doubt true, and proves the liberal media's pro-gay bias. You'll no doubt recall that when a straight man commits a crime or makes a fatal error, his heterosexuality is spread all over the news cycle. Those of us who are old enough to remember the OJ Simpson case recall the headline "Former Football Star Accused of Killing Ex-Wife, Waiter in Hetero Nutty Rage." More recently, "Boston Marathon Bomber and Known Straight Youth Dzhokhar Tsarnaev Sentenced to Death."

Or, even internationally, "Non-Gay Forces of ISIS Force Captive Women Into Sex Slavery." "Practicing Heterosexuals of Boko Harum Kidnap Teenage Girls." "Batshit Crazy Co-Pilot Not Homosexual When He Flew Plane Into Alps, Killing All On Board."

The list goes on. How many times have we seen the phrase "Hetero pilot error" listed as the cause of a fatal airplane crash? Or seen "Drunk Straight Man Blamed for Wrong-Way Accident on Freeway?" Every time some dumb jock hopped up on his own testosterone does something fatally violent, either by accident or on purpose, his sexuality is duly noted by the shameless liberal press, but when one of those insidious gays screws up, he gets a pass for the deviant lifestyle which may well have been the real cause of whatever tragedy he precipitated.

This column wants to congratulate Ms. Rios on her justified anger at his phenomena, and her relentless pursuit of possible facts. Thanks to her trend-setting journalistic style, we may soon see honest headlines, headlines like "Cured Nutbag John Hinckley Set to be Released from Custody for Shooting Ronald Reagan While Having Heterosexual Schizoid Fantasy About Jodie Foster Who, Ironically, Is Gay."

There's news you can use.

*"Capital Gay Pride parade in Albany New York 2009" by Tim Schapker - Capital Pride Parade, Albany NY 2009Uploaded by Allstarecho. Licensed under CC BY 2.0 http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Capital_Gay_Pride_parade_in_Albany_New_York_2009.jpg#/media/File:Capital_Gay_Pride_parade_in_Albany_New_York_2009.jpg

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God Going to Kick Ass, Take Names Real Soon

5/14/2015

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When an expensively dressed white woman says Jesus is coming, you'd better believe it

Just when I had ground up my Apocalypse Sausage in the garbage disposal, there is a new warning that the End is Near. This time it's not from some addled pastor adding up the ages of the patriarchs, or deciphered from a giant stone wheel in the Central American jungle.

This time it's from Anne Graham Lotz, daughter of Billy Graham. Billy Graham, for those of you too young to remember him, was America's Main Minister for decades. In my Catholic youth, we Catholics used to think of him as the Protestant Pope, although the more sophisticated theologians among us knew that wasn't precisely correct. He was the confessor to Richard Nixon, the President famous for bombing his way to peace in Vietnam, Watergate, the opening to China and for being the most insecure weasel ever to occupy the White House.

So we need to take this warning seriously. God is the Graham family business, and Anne ranks high in it. This is why God speaks to her and not to you. Also He may favor white matrons with incredibly disciplined hair styles and gigantic brilliant white teeth that look like they could chomp through a dinosaur neck, because Anne has that going on.

The message from Anne is the usual one—the human race is seven billion pieces of crap and God is going to flush us soon. Apparently to Him we are like one of those plastic model airplanes kids used to glue together before they had video games. I am sure you remember them. The illustration on the box showed a dangerous war machine raining death over the German heartland, but when you finished the model it didn't look anything like the picture. It looked a little crooked, the decals didn't fit on right, it was covered with whitish spots where you had gobbed the glue on too thickly and was still the dull gray of the original plastic because your mom had been smart enough not to buy you paint as well as glue. Sure, you put it on your dresser. Maybe you even used it to strafe plastic soldiers once in a while, but your heart wasn't in it. When your mom swept it away cleaning some spring, you were secretly glad.

So it is with us and God, according to Anne. He made us, and He isn't satisfied with the results. When we made that model airplane, we knew that no matter how much we whined about how crappy it turned out, in the hopes that our parents would get us another one, we knew internally that it was our fault, especially if we had sniffed a little of that glue when we were piecing it together.

But the God of the Grahams is a blame-shifting Supreme Being, and He does not accept responsibility for making our gonads too active and our mouths too big. It's our fault we're sex-obsessed blasphemers, not His, and He is going to wind up the whole thing with a final Ka-boom! Real soon.

What to do? Well, Anne suggests nine days of prayer and fasting starting tomorrow. This is not going to prevent our fiery destruction—that's coming no matter what. It's just to persuade God to turn down the heat on those final flames a little, and maybe get Him to start burning socialist countries like Sweden and New Zealand first before he gets around to torching America. The theology isn't utterly clear, but the praying is no problem. Americans love to pray, especially at government functions and when they want guidance on kicking gay ass. Fasting is going to be the issue. Americans don't fast, they diet. There are thousands of diets in this country, but have you ever heard of a fast that begins with a word like Atkins or Paleo? The Muslims know how to fast—when they fast, they chow down all night and sleep all day, in a month-long nocturnal party—but this is the US of A, and we are not about to take nutritional advice from a bunch of terrorists.

So I'm asking Anne to make it a little less complicated. Why can't we just give up burritos for nine days, for example? Or just all sit down for fast food, instead of driving through? These are sacrifices most Americans would be happy to make to stave off the Final Destruction. Plus we would get less ketchup on our car upholstery.

And we'll all be a tiny bit thinner for the Final Whomping. So wherever we end up going, it'll feel a little less crowded. Praise be.

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Cancel My Reservation for Mars

5/8/2015

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Craphole

I picked up an article about people practicing living on Mars the other day.* In this experiment, they lived high on the slopes of Mauna Loa in Hawaii, where the air is thin and cold, inside a cramped tube where they pretended to have very little air or water. They wore mock spacesuits when they went outside. They hauled ass into lava tubes on short notice, because on Mars, lava tubes would provide a nice shelter from solar flares, which we don't feel on Earth because we have a nice, cushy atmosphere, but on Mars would cook you like a human Hot Pocket if you were caught outside in one.

They are absolutely forbidden from going into Hilo on the weekend for a Mai Tai and a big pupu platter, because that would screw up their mission of seeing how long they could live in close contact with only five other people, under simulated conditions of extreme danger, without going completely batshit.

Needless to say, these are better human beings than I am or anybody that is reading this is likely to be. Which is good, because it takes a good human being to live on a shitty planet, and Mars has a lot of fecal qualities as a planetary body. In real estate terms, it's a major fixer-upper. Personally, I think NASA ought to spend its money developing a warp drive, so we could visit the planets full of hooker-looking space women in fishnet panty hose that were regularly discovered by the Starship Enterprise on the original Star Trek. But nobody asked me, so it looks like Mars it is, despite the fact that Mars is no picnic.

First, it's cold. Your average Martian surface temperature hovers around minus fifty degrees. That's Fahrenheit, which I use because I am an American and we don't believe in Centigrade. Minus fifty is brisk. "Sure," I hear you saying, "but it gets that cold in Antarctica, and people survive there."

I admit that it's cold at the South Pole, sometimes as cold as it is on Mars. And yes, at any given time you can open the flap of your Antarctic tent and be struck by a howling frigid wind, which in Antarctica seems freezingly inconvenient but on Mars would be regarded as a big-time bonus, because that icy blast would be full of life-sustaining oxygen, which Mars does not have.

So the most important position on your Mars crew would be that of air farmer, the guy who goes out every day and cultivates oxygen for you to breathe. There is no job like his on earth. The closest equivalent here is the air guitarist, who is just a guy in a karaoke bar drunk enough to think he is a member of Led Zeppelin. So not that close.

The second most important job on Mars is that of the water-maker, the guy who finds some billion-year old sludge deep beneath the Martian sands and filters enough H2O out of it so you can rinse the Martian dust out of your mouth a couple times a day. No matter how nice the bottles he puts this water in, or how gushy the slogans printed on their labels are, even slogans like "Glacier Fed, Probably, When There Used to be Glaciers Here" or "Bottled at the Source, Before It Sublimated Directly Into the Extremely Rarified Atmosphere," my bet is that the taste of the stuff is going to make Tucson tap water seem like Krystal.

Of course, if humans are going to colonize Mars, they are going to have to have sex on Mars. "Ah," you think, "This is going to be the fun part." Well, you may be wrong. First off, there is no Martian Match.com. Your soulmate is your crewmate, with whom you have lived, along with four other astronauts, for the nine months it took you to get to Mars in a rocket capsule the size of an Airstream trailer. I'm sure you've heard that relationships need space. By that, nobody means outer space. You need to conserve water on Mars, because the water-making guy is a major slacker, so each of you only gets to take one six-minute shower a week. In the interests of libidinousity, they better be on consecutive days, especially if you both have the habit of spending hours outside in a sweaty spacesuit. You've still got those four other people to deal with, too, so you'd better hope they just sit around silently wishing they had a beer while you get it on behind some flimsy curtain or other useless imitation of privacy, instead of making funny comments.

On the other hand, you can legitimately use a pickup line I've tried several times when I was feeling heavily sociable at a singles bar. Just set your drink down, lean in to your intended urgently, and say "The future of humanity on this planet depends on us having sex right now."

Let me know if it works better on Mars.

*New Yorker, April 20, 2015, "Moving to Mars."

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Apocalypse Breakfast Meat

5/7/2015

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We have emergency food in our home. My girl thinks we should have more. Every once in a while she tells me it would be a good idea to go down to Smart and Final and buy a bunch of canned goods and bottled water in case there is a major natural or man-made disaster and we are cut off from contact with the rest of the world and bumped off the power grid.

We never actually do this, as it would cut into our funds for alcohol and vacations, but we do have some standby stuff, as I said. This mostly consists of canned goods we don't want to eat and whatever water is left in the big Sparklett's upside-down bottle, so we are much better prepared for the end of the world the day after Kimo, our Sparklett's guy, drops off a fresh bottle than we are the day before.

The other thing we had was a roll of sausage in the freezer. We even referred to it as 'Apocalypse Sausage.' The theory was, once the End Days began, the stuff in our freezer would slowly defrost and we could eke out a few more weeks of survival cooking it on the gas grill while waiting for the world to end, Jesus to come back, or the power company to turn the lights on again, whichever came first.

I shattered those plans the other day by running out of bacon. The only meat left to eat with my eggs was the Apocalypse Sausage. I defrosted it and grilled it on the George Foreman, slid it on a plate with the eggs and took a big bite.

"Is that the Apocalypse Sausage you're eating?" my girl asked, in a tone that reflected her negative opinion of my shortsighted, selfish, possibly survival-threatening move. Then, because she had to know, she said, "How is it?"

I took another bite so I could give her an accurate answer. As I was chewing, I reflected on the history of the sausage. It had probably been in my freezer for five years before I moved it to our present abode. It had been given to me by a friendly neighbor who had embraced vegetarianism. I did not ask at the time how long it had been in his freezer. Maybe even longer. He, like I, had probably avoided defrosting the cold, cylindrical brick of pig meat for much the same reasons I had—it seemed like too much trouble, especially for someone like myself who seldom forgets to buy bacon.

"Well?" she asked again.

I reflected as the bits of freezer-burnt pork soaked my palate. "If the end of the world actually happened, and we survived for long enough to be forced to eat this, it could easily be the worst part about living through humanity's last days," I replied. "After just a couple bites, we would long for armed mutants to show up to cannibalize us. If you had to put a flavor to final, hopeless despair, this would be it. For certain."

Even the dog wouldn't touch it. Too bad. Now that that sausage went down the Insinkerator, I've got to think about fattening him up.

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GOP for Me--I Will Run in 2016

5/4/2015

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It is with great humility, but also a profound sense that I am better qualified than everyone else in the field, that I announce that my candidacy for the Republican nomination for the President of the United States.

If elected, I promise to be a different kind of President. For example, at least once a week I will personally lead a White House tour. Yes, at any Monday through Friday, some lucky group of visitors will not be guided through the halls of American history by some fusty government docent, but by the actual President. They will be giddy with patriotic joy as I show them the rooms where Lincoln was shot and Washington slept.

I will conduct a strong foreign policy. You will not catch me on any "apology tours." I may go on a "subtle insult tour," or a "veiled sardonic reference tour," if the mood strikes me, but there will be no mea culpas for America on my watch.

Those who oppose American interests around the world will experience swift, decisive action from my Administration. If Putin invades someplace, I will retaliate by whipping off my shirt and shooting a tiger. I may play the "North Korean card," by making a diplomatic opening to the People's Republic. Yes, I will go to North Korea. And challenge Kim Jong Un to join me on a diet.

I will drink Angela Merkel under the table.

As far as domestic policy goes, I will fight for the middle class, and by that I don't mean in some metaphorical way. I mean in the octagon. Anybody that wants to fight against the middle class can put on the gloves and go toe-to-toe with me, after I train for a few weeks. Only three, three-minute rounds, though, because I'll be a busy man. And my well-armed Secret Service detail will be on my side.

But enough of that, I hear you, my fellow Americans, saying. What makes you think you can win the Republican nomination? What about all the other Republicans that are running?

Well, there are a crap-ton of them. But I stand head and shoulders above the rest. I do respect Ted Cruz for being the first one to shout "Shotgun!" when the doors to this election's Republican clown car opened. But unlike Ted, a Hispanic who was born in Canada, I am a natural, native-born American with a long-form birth certificate to prove it. But since I'm white, no one will ask me for it. Unlike Rand Paul, I wear no sneaky hair-weave over my proudly bald head. Unlike Marco Rubio, I have never been tempted to shout "Polo!" when addressed by my first name. Unlike Jeb Bush, none of my relatives has ever been President, so no faint whiff of political incest will ever waft around my White House.

Unlike Chris Christie, I have never intentionally caused a traffic jam. Sure, there was that incident with the big rig and the Taste the Rim Asian Cuisine lunch truck and myself that backed up the 5 just south of Santa Ana for most of a Friday afternoon, but as I explained to the investigating officers, my vehicle was stopped because I was trying to grab a pair of chopsticks from the lunch truck so I could eat the bowl of Udon noodles I had ordered while I was stuck next to it in traffic because I couldn't resist the smell wafting from it any longer. It was the big rig that rear-ended me and jackknifed, not the other way around. AND I WAS NOT TEXTING AT THE TIME, as the rumor mills and the twenty-four hour news cycle would have it.

As for the rest of the Republican field, from Bobby Jindal to Carly Fiorina to that black doctor guy, I have better name recognition, at least among my neighbors and the local police.

I will be the first non-Christian President. I will also be non-Jewish, non-Muslim, non-Buddhist and non-everything else, so all prayer breakfasts will be canceled until further notice, resulting in a hefty savings in bacon-and-egg money to you, the taxpayer.

I will also be the first President with a live-in girlfriend instead of a formal spouse. What you, my fellow Americans, will call her is up to you. First Tootsie, First Bestie, First Main Squeeze—all will be acceptable to me. None will be acceptable to her. That you can count on.

What a second, I hear you saying. We're all familiar with your positions. You badmouth the NRA. You're against gigantic tax breaks for gazillionaires. We've never heard you say anything negative about gay marriage, unions, or Mexicans. You're in favor of global warming, true, but only because warmer ocean temperatures around San Diego mean local sport-fishing is really kicking ass. You don't sound like a Republican. You sound more like a Democrat.

Well, that's true. But I regard that as a positive for my campaign. I am the only Democrat running for the Republican nomination. But then there's only one Democrat running for the Democratic one, really. So everything works out.

See you at the polls in 2016!