It’s 2012 now, the year some are saying the Mayan calendar predicts a cataclysmic upheaval across the board for our planet, perhaps even the end of the world as we know it. I don’t know if these doomsday predictions have any validity, but I do know one thing: the potential candidates in the race to decide who will be elected President of the United States look like pure shit.
I’m not particularly stoked on any of the candidates. In a massive blow to our civil rights, Obama quietly signed the NDAA for the fiscal year 2012 into law while Americans drank in their party hats on New Year’s Eve. The GOP is parading around a bunch of ass-clowns in what has got to be the most embarrassing primary season in the history of their party. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse than Sarah Palin, they bust out that lunatic Michele Bachman. I have no clue what the Libertarians are up to now that Ron Paul is gunning for the Republican nomination. Probably loading their guns and preparing for the worst.
Don’t even get me started on our current Congress, THE WORST CONGRESS I HAVE EVER SEEN OR HEARD OF IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. It’s a relentless bipartisan pissing contest in Washington where not only is nothing getting done, nothing is ALLOWED to get done. There’s a bunch of squabbling children in Washington in charge of the business of running our country. These baboons are stopping any useful litigation from occurring by engaging in an endless game of “I know you are, but what am I?”. There is very little compromise happening in DC, and there is very little regard for the welfare of the American people. It’s PATHETIC.
Something has got to change. America is falling to pieces around us and we are sitting back and letting it happen. We need someone to come in and REALLY take charge, someone who can’t be bought by corporate dollars because he doesn’t need or want ‘em. Someone who is not going to bullshit the country or the rest of the world about what’s going to go down when he steps into office, because he LIKES pissing people off and doesn’t give a shit about hurting anyone’s feelings. We need a man who is not afraid to stick his neck out and risk embarrassing himself while doing the right thing, a man, in fact, INCAPABLE of embarrassment anymore PERIOD because he’s ALREADY done almost every stupid WRONG thing you can think of at one time or the other. We need a hard-boiled, no-nonsense, mean son-of-a-bitch with a bad reputation who ain’t afraid to cock-whip the shit out of some randomly selected pussy-ass billionaire on live tv during his annual State of the Union Address just to make a point and let the mega-rich know that NO ONE is above the law here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. In short, we need a man who just DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK.
America, that man is me.
Thats right, ME. David Randall Blythe. Ol’ D. Randall. Uncle Randy. Wassisname, that dude from that one band that got drunk and fought in a skirt. I love the USA like a nerd loves D&D, I am thoroughly disgusted with the state of affairs, and I am ready, willing, and able to FUCK SHIT UP without a micro-second’s hesitation in order to fix what ails this country. All you have to do is elect me as the next President of the United States of America and I’ll handle the rest.
You may be asking yourselves “What does this motherfucker think he’s got that all the other more politically experienced candidates don’t? What makes him think that he should be allowed to run this great country?” Well, let me tell you. I have something that all the other candidates lack, something this nation needs now more than ever: BALLS. And when I take office, I will IMMEDIATELY prove it.
My first act as President of the United States will to be shot. That’s right, SHOT. With a high-powered assault rifle. Immediately after taking the oath of office, I will be escorted about twenty yards away and be shot publicly in a non-lethal area of my body by a highly trained Navy SEAL sniper. It will hurt like fuck. Why would I do this? Because I will now be commander-in-chief of the armed forces. This means that during my term I will probably have to make some tough decisions affecting the survival of other men. And as commander-in-chief, I shouldn’t expect anyone in our military to do anything I’m not willing to do myself. That includes getting shot. Me being shot will be broadcast live world-wide via satellite, with no bleeping out of the incredible string of curse words I will undoubtably let fly with. I will be required to walk/limp/crawl on my own power a minimum of 50 yards through the mud to an ambulance that will take me away to patch me up. If I can’t make it on my own, I’m not tough enough to be your President. After all the nations in the entire world witness America’s new President, an insane looking heavily tattooed freak, getting shot ON HIS OWN ORDER as soon as he takes office, then crawling all bloody to an ambulance, cussing the whole way and screaming pure hate in a monstrous voice tortured by years of touring and Marlboro Reds, they will think twice before fucking with us. I can promise you that.
Speaking of military policy, there’s a few other things I will be required to do if I am going to be your commander-in-chief. The first thing I’ll do after recovering from being shot will be to go through the thirteen week Marine Corps basic training boot camp on luxurious Parris Island, South Carolina. I’ll be treated like any other recruit, in fact, probably worse due to my status as the new POTUS.
'Well, well, well, what do we have here? Isn't this just PRECIOUS” the drill sergeant will scream in my face “If it isn't the goddamned President of the United fucking States. Do you think your special, boy? Do you think just because you fooled a bunch of goddamned idiots into voting you into the White House you deserve special treatment? Are you staring at my ass, son? Are you sweet for me? This is the Corps, not Harvey Milk's San Francisco. Now drop and give me 50, you sub-human piece of shit!”
The physical and mental abuse will be extreme, but I’ve done that to myself for years already, so I’m confident I will pull through ok and be a better man for it.
After I make it through boot camp and come out a lean, mean, presidential killing machine, I’ll have to immediately assess our military presence world-wide. I’ll take a look at any conflicts we are currently involved in, and if I want to keep our troops there and fighting, I’ll be required to fly there ASAP on Air Force One and kill an enemy prisoner myself. In a UFC-style chain-link octagon. In hand-to-hand combat. With a ka-bar knife. If I don’t have the balls to use my recent Marine Corps training, face off against the enemy, and knife another man TO DEATH, then I have NO BUSINESS sending men and women I’ve never met to fight and maybe die in a strange land in the name of service to our country. Once again, if I don’t have the stones to do this, then I don’t have the stones to be your President.
In fact, anytime I decide America is going to war with another country, I will be REQUIRED to kill the first of the enemy, on their home turf, face to face in a brutal manner and with a primitive weapon. If I am willing to do that, there’s a pretty good chance I’m not shipping our guys and gals over there just because they have some oil I want or wear funny hats. They need to die in order to keep America safe. I should certainly not mind doing my part to make that happen.
If you think I’m overreaching a bit here here, take a look at one of my historical precedents - a bad motherfucker named John F. Kennedy. The son of a Congressman, JFK was disqualified from joining the Army in 1941 due to a chronic back problem. JFK was a pretty boy from Boston whose father had a ton of political juice. Had he used that juice to get his disqualification? FUCK NO. He was PISSED about it. Like any child of privilege, he rang Pops up to bitch and cry about how unfair life had treated him, and how he wanted daddy to fix it. And in the manner of connected men everywhere, his big-shot father DID use his old boy network to shut his whining son up. He pulled some strings and got Jack into the Navy instead.
JFK served as the commander of a torpedo patrol boat in the South Pacific during The Big One (WW2). He and his buddies were cruising around the Solomon Islands searching for the enemy late one night when a Japanese destroyer named Amagiri rammed his little-ass patrol boat and it started to sink. He gathered his posse around him on the flaming wreck of his boat and asked them if they wanted to surrender right there in the water.
FUCK NO. These guys knew that if JFK, their commander in charge, was willing to fight, then they should be willing to fight. NO SURRENDER. Fuck it. So they took off swimming to an island. JFK had re-injured his back in the crash, and wasn’t feeling so hot. But there was a badly burned man with them unable to swim to safety on his own. So JFK towed the man to safety. He had to tow him by grabbing the life jacket strap of his burned up homey, and once he had it secure, he swam him to safety. Fucked up back and all, he took off swimming in the dark water, pulling that extra weight. He didn’t let his man down, he didn’t let his man sink, he did what he had to do, and he held onto that strap.
WITH HIS FUCKING TEETH.
Now THAT is some hard shit right there. And he wasn’t even done yet. In fact, after they got to the island safely, JFK looked around and decided he just wasn’t in love with it. So he towed the man once again, WITH HIS TEETH, to another island, where the atmosphere looked a little more chill. Once his crew were all there, he decided he it was Miller time and took off swimming for a few HOURS, again with his fucked up back, through the night and in water a Japanese DESTROYER was cruising around in in search of brews for his boys. He didn’t find any beer, but he did secure food and aid and the men were rescued off the second island.
That was just one of the many awesome displays of BALLS Kennedy was known for. He was smart as a whip, too. We need a President with balls AND brains again. I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I’m as hard, smart, or even as good looking as JFK. But I do have a few brain cells left rolling around in my knotty head, and I promise you that I won’t lead America into any unnecessary conflicts.
Why should you trust me on this? Because I’ll know what it’s like for our military guys and gals to go through boot camp, and I’ll know what it’s like to get shot then pull myself to safety. Most importantly, I’ll know what it’s like to kill another human being, face to face and with my bloody hands, not by making a fucking phone call. This is the type of bullshit games men behind desks play that get our young men and women killed. Fuck that.
If I do decide to get us into a war, I’ll untie the hands of our military when I send them off to fight. I’ll remove these ridiculous rules of engagement that say we can’t shoot until we are being shot at. It’s INSANE what our troops are expected to do- sit there like sitting ducks until someone puts a bullet in someone’s head. Only then are they allowed to start busting caps. This bullshit is getting Americans killed everyday. Under the Blythe administration, if we see you, you have a gun, and you come too close to us, you get shot the fuck up. BLAM! We’ll fight by ghetto law- in the hood, do you think a Blood is gonna wait until a gun waving Crip starts shooting at him to put a round in the motherfucker? HELL NO. He wants to live to sell another 50 rock, so he lets him have it! If I get us into a fight, it will be because we HAVE to fight, and once we’ve been FORCED to fight I’ll let our guys and gals do their jobs- KICK SOME FUCKING ASS IN A GODDAMNED HURRY so they can get safely back home, where they belong, drinking beer and getting laid.
This is the first of my campaign announcements, funded entirely by myself. I refuse to take campaign donations. Let’s let the people, not big money, decide who will be the next El Jefe. In my next announcement, I’ll address some of my ideas for domestic policy, including economic reform.
Thank you for your support, and God bless America.
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Here's a few things you should know about about me:
1. I'm 40 years old as of 2/21/2011.
2. I'm happily married to an awesome woman.
3. Sometimes I live Richmond, VA. Sometimes I live all
over the globe. I ALWAYS reside in Randonesia.
4. I really like: books, hunting & fishing, skateboarding,
punk fucking rock (the music & the way of life- true
til DEATH!), comic books, guns, knives
whips (basically any sort of killing weapon), good coffee, & non-alcoholic St. Pauili Girl or Becks
5. I am a sober alcoholic. I don't drink or drug anymore
because it was killing me. Everybody else, by all
means, PLEASE- have a drink on me.
6. I sing for a metal band called lamb of god.
7. I say exactly what I want, when I want to. If you don't
like it, don't read this blog. I don't care if I hurt your
feelings- I speak what only what I regard as the truth,
and nothing else.
8. I tend to disregard conventional grammar & spelling
at times, not because I am ignorant in such matters,
but because this a fucking blog, not my attempt to
win the Pulitzer. When I get paid to write, I let editors
fix the details. Here, I try not to worry about it much.
9. I do not tolerate racism, religious intolerance, homo-
phobia, dogmatic political posturing, sexism, class
restrictions, or just general idiocy/assholeness from
ANYONE, OF ANY SEX, CREED, OR COLOR, nor should
you. That being said, I am definitely not politically
correct, so if it's a joke- get over yourself.
10. I do not give a fuck.
11. I am actually a nice, warm-hearted, generous,
articulate Southern Male with impeccable manners. If
ya see me on the street, come say hello!