Dear Mrs. Vera,
How do you think New Jersey’s Governor Christie’s impending weight loss will affect the 2016 Presidential election?
Mrs. Connie Fasquatti,
Passaic/Hoboken Newborn Beautiful (finalist) 1943,
Miss Little Trenton 1947,
Glassboro Crab Queen 1963, 1967, 1978-81,
Miss Patterson 2009
Dear Confiscated Paysack Hobo #9876543211=0,
Thanks for your letter, dear — love your hat! Yes, there are certainly many empty lots of interest building already for not only this upcoming election, still years away, but also for several others quite a bit further in the future, but not too far out from now, it seems, because all the crystal balls just fade to black right after Donald Trump turns 82.
Elections are a difficult manners topic for those among us who take pride in civility, and value graciousness above blood-red victory, but it can be exceedingly hard to avoid fundraisers even when you are quite good at it, unless you are an out-of-work- or even still-working American. Many people are looking at 2016 because looking at 2013 makes everybody kind of sick to their stomachs even though a lot of folks are beginning to do a little better. Some people don’t even eat the stem anymore when they find an apple core, and the government guidelines no longer list “mixed fruit stems” as a vegetable choice for our nation’s sole remaining children’s lunch program, which serves inner city La Jolla’s ESL community at the Oceanside Domestic Tech Preparatory High School And Strawberry Farm.
I think it is admirable that Governor Christie is trying to take better care of his health, and wish him well (instead of “swell!”), with his new diet regimen and weight loss program. Today, Governor Christie is a formidable candidate and many wonder who might possess the irresistible force necessary to push aside what is currently our most immovable object in politics. He seems like a whole group of guys you’d be happy to have a beer with, which has been our country’s only priority at the ballot box for the entire time that we’ve had access to them, apparently. What I find potentially disturbing is the question of just where, exactly, all that weight he’s hoping to lose is expected to go once he has lost it? Guantanamo? A lobbying firm? A scoop at a time into the potted plants filling the summer homes of well-heeled Republican donors? A lot of that weight is over 18 years old, so can it vote, too, probably… And isn’t that a violation of some law? It must be. I actually feel really bad for all the fish in the Atlantic Ocean, because without increased environmental regulation in the end that is where New Jersey will continue to flush its unmentionables. Also, Snooki and Donald Trump are always touching it.
If he takes the weight off and keeps it off, I expect a trend of politically ambitious skeletons that no longer have human needs staking claims in the Republican primary process. This will weaken the prospects for any of the R. Pauls still with us, who despite their desirably featherweight status (by Pro-Boxing standards) will seem hopelessly out of date since the puniness stems from the diminutiveness of their stature, vertically, as opposed to the trending waferyness they simply do not have, which will tip the scales against the established thinness of their political ideas. The Pauls are quite lumpy in reality, almost umpa-lumpy, but without the wisdom, rhythm and Boehner tan of the originals.
Christie’s likely running mate will be the unlikely Ann Coulter, whose sharp angular cheese-slicing features and nearly one-dimensional stringbeaniness will make her the perfect November side dish, and if they lose she can be quickly re-purposed for Turkey Day, especially if people keep throwing cranberries at her like they do now. I, personally, think she’s a terrhible casserhole, but I understand many like her traditional presentation, when she is drenched in mushroom soup concentrate and sprinkled with fried onions. To each his-or-her own, I suppose. Anyway, Christie will pick her, not out of any misplaced sense of Palinism, but because his own rapidly progressing slenderness will require Ms. Coulter to be glued perpendicular to him, because at a right angle at least one of them will remain visible at all times to the cameras that elect our leaders. Both become invisible when you look at their thin edge, and will fall right through a cracked manhole cover or spaghetti strainer unless these steps are taken.
As candidates get ever slimmer, America will turn to a new group of political leaders, drawn from the ranks of runway models, bad actresses, Skeletor, starched flags, meth addicts, furious court cards like the Queen of Hearts, and also people angered by their deliberate starvation by the eaters who hold sway in Washington, today. Hula Hoops™ and pogo sticks will do very well in state elections in 2016 as it sinks into the American consciousness just how serious you don’t need to be to get elected to political office at this point. By 2024, we will be deciding the President Of The Free World in a tight contest between two small piles of Splenda™ and Nutrasweet™, and it will be yet another tight race that leaves us with a bad taste in our mouths afterwards. In 2030, there will be a three-way race will be between Our Last Thin Dime, a Chinese Laser and Donald Trump’s Legacy. Trump’s Legacy will win, and after that the spirits will not speak.
On the Democrats’ side of things, Christie is almost as good a moderate Donkey as President Obama is a financially responsible, socially moderate Hawaiian Elephant. If they went to sea in a pea green boat together I pity the fool hurricanes out there, spinning around damply and blaming nonexistent global warming on gay marriage equality and background checks, who foolishly try to pick a fight with either of these politicians, since they number among the few elected public servants holding office today who, in order to do what they feel is right, are still capable of standing up to their respective parties, which are being held so ostentatiously and with such tacky excess in the Nation’s Grandest Lobby. Well, OK, it’s the grandest lobby if you don’t count the one just outside The Supreme Court’s Locker Room.
Mrs. Vera Newman is a San Francisco absurdist character, humorist, artist, writer, community organizer, clothes horse and co-founder, with Mister Tina, of The Verasphere. She has been answering the unasked questions she receives from the lonely, empty rooms of America’s heart-shaped circulatory pump room ever since it began beating. Nestled in the politically bent bowels of the Nation since she was a young girl babysitting the very same newborn Nation, her ability to self-reflect about anyone else’s embarrassing shortcomings, inept fumblings or lousy recipes has enabled her invisible rise as a modern-day Cassandra, whatever that means. Feel free to dispose of all your worries by leaving them on her doorstep!