My fellow Americans, I have decided to run for president in the year 2012. And I have concluded, after careful and thoughtful consideration, that this country wants to elect a man who cannot be impugned, blackmailed or vilified because of prior indiscretions or lapses in judgment. My reasoning is as follows: If I open my personal closet of skeletons and allow the bones to be inspected and turned about ahead of time, any attempt by my enemies to root about my biography with malevolent intentions will prove futile. Therefore, what follows is a candid enumeration of my checkered and, some might say, sordid past. 

I once made love to a bulldog named Stu behind a Fudruckers in the San Gabriel Valley. Contrary to tabloid speculation, the episode was consensual and neither party was injured. Shortly thereafter, I french kissed a male dolphin off the coast of Puerto Rico. It is important to note that these were the only occasions in which I had romantic relations with animals, wild or domestic. In the fall of 1990, I exchanged knowing glances with a neighbor’s horse, but nothing came of it. I once quarreled with a blind colleague of mine and beat the woman senseless with her own prosthetic leg. After the beat down, I drowned her lifeless corpse in a pool of keratin and then dropped a restaurant match on her head. The chemical dissonance produced a small fire that bucked and swelled as I urinated upon it. I still have the prosthetic leg. It hangs above my mantle between alabaster busts of Pol-Pot and Eazy-E. Once in awhile, my mistress and I fill the leg with Crazy Horse and get lifted while we curse baseball, single mothers and the Boy Scouts. 

I’ve fathered sixteen or twenty children out of wedlock and haven’t claimed any of the little bastards. The oldest boy called me last summer but I feigned a Russian accent and mumbled something about a wrong number. One of the girls has a lazy eye that is more often than not pointing towards Quebec. On her tenth birthday, I mailed the child a picture of herself with the crooked eye circled in red magic marker. Every now and again, I’ll send the red-headed one pictures of unsent child support checks. A few weeks ago, I pilfered a fleet of wheelchairs from a low-income old folks home outside of Mesa. Afterwards, I traded one of the chairs for a ceramic Mussolini mask and sold the rest for meth money. I spent the next several days at the local strip mall, goosing teenagers near the escalator, stoned off my head. 

To the best of my recollection, the aforementioned events represent the most scandalous in my past. There are lesser offenses – fellating a mannequin, stripping for uncooked food, hosting some donkey shows – that happened so long ago and were so entirely innocent that any elaboration in this missive would waste my time and yours. 
Therefore, I present myself to you as a man of unique probity and uncommon veracity. I trust that you, the voters, will recognize me as such and entrust me with this most solemn responsibility. 

May God bless you. 
May God bless America.