...that he can't remember ever meeting me.
When I tried to reach Sen. Obama on his win, I got an aide who told me "Forget you ever met Sen. Obama. The President-elect has! He cannot recall ever meeting you, and who's gonna believe the claim of a living severed head, anyway?" Then he blew me a raspberry and hung up.
(Sen. Obama also previously conceded that I was very last person he thought would present any challenge to him. He said that the night we went drinking together.)
Well, I tried to congratulate our next president. But I still wish him the best.
It is hard to admit defeat. O, it hurts! So I'll simply quote Democrat Dick Tuck (that would have been the perfect name for a tranny!), when he lost a California state senate primary in 1964: "The people have spoken-- the bastards!" (I could be a gracious loser, but being a sorehead about it means I'm more likely to drink. Anything to increase the odds!)
Allen's Brain and I always had an uphill climb to make to win the election, and neither of us is particularly good at rolling any direction but sideways or down. (And we have to be pushed to even accomplish that.)
I want to thank my running-mate, the semi-nameless living lump of diabolical gray matter known as "Allen's Brain." Your lack of ethics made me realize I don't seem so bad in comparison. And you worked tirelessly* on the campaign trail; intimidating our less-than-enormous group of supporters into being on our side was difficult. (Dominance by mental telepathy can hard work.) You'll be getting those puppies you wanted...to feed to your atomic lizard men.
I also want to thank my grandmother, who always said to me, "Max, always believe in yourself. Even though you have no good reason to, far as I can tell." She always pushed me to try new things and to take risks, like drinking household cleansers and playing with matches. God bless 'er. Her insurance money made me what I am today.
Finally, for the reporters who covered-- and criticized-- our campaign, I can only say, "You won't have Max the Drunken Severed Head to kick around anymore. (Unless you really need me for a soccer game and keep me supplied with Scotch and soda.) Goodbye."
Chtulhu bless America!
*And why would a brain need tires, anyway?