John Boston | Come Nov. 11, Elect Mr. SCV for Divine Maximus

John Boston

My contrite apologies because this is SUCH last-minute notice, but, I’m running for president Tuesday, Nov. 8, 2022. I know. I know. It’s not a presidential election year, and, I’m campaigning as a write-in. But, my country needs me. Better? We need to irritate the nation’s snarky dumbbells. 

Snarky Dumbbells. Good British punk band name, eh what? 

The great majority of Americans hunger for healing and coming together as a nation. I confess. I’m not your guy. My political foundations parallel those of Conan the Barbarian. When asked what was best in life by a Mongol warlord, Connie solemnly quoted: “Crush your enemies; see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of the women!” 

In times of national crises, I hate to be a stickler for grammar, but shouldn’t it be “…drive your enemies before you THEN crush them?” Think about it. 

Actually, perhaps president is not the right job for me. I’m more a problem solver. The word, “compromise,” makes me puke. A much nicer fiat would be to just vote me in as Federal Wise Seer & High Holy Warrior Poet Divine Civil Servant Maximus. 

Or, Johnny Max, for short. 

With my word being law starting Nov. 9, 2022, we could skip the tedious and predictable Oath of Office, because I’d rather just stand at the mic and scream: “VALHALLA!!!” and wave an ax. Guaranteed? Some of you, the mouth-breathers (you know who you are) are going to be an entire passel of unhappy. I will start work Wednesday running. 

Come Nov. 12, I’m creating the B.O.T.F.A. — Big Oil Trench For America. All government employees who voted Democrat will now work on the B.O.T.F.A. The yangiest liberals will get the dullest shovels with the shortest handles to start digging the New Keystone Pipeline. We’ll save money by not actually building a pipeline, but rather, an open trench, to bring oil downhill from Canada and Alaska directly to Seattle, Portland, Chicago, Baltimore, Washington, New York and L.A. You know. The Seven Armpits of America? 

Along the way, we’ll dig steep pits where both kinds of criminals (hardened & softened) will be thrown. The crooks will be handcuffed to liberal jurists, teachers’ union reps, anarchist DAs, commie B-word mayors, mainstream media reporters and woke professors in lieu of blankets, for warmth. Or, in some cases, pleasant company and in other cases, for food. “May the strongest survive,” is not the end game we’re looking for. After we run out of Democrats, we’ll substitute leopards to be chained to the bad guys. Or, lepers. 

Same first day, I’ll enact the American Homeless Outreach Program. A.H.O.P. begins with building a big wall around San Francisco. Then, using stun guns and tractors, we “Reach Out” to the homeless, scooping them up then sliding them via several one-way chutes into Baghdad by the Bay. Figure after four months, the program will reach Hakuna Matata phase. We steam-clean the sidewalks of the remains of the nuts, drug monkeys and the woke, then begin rebuilding San Francisco, maybe even seeing if we can attract a halfway decent Major League Baseball team. 

I can’t do this as president, but as Civil Service Maximus, my powers will extend into the uncharted waters of entertainment regulation. I’d go through public records to see which celebrities (Jon Stewart; Cher; Miley Cyrus; Samuel L. Jackson; Whoopi Goldberg; Chelsea Handler; Green Bay Packers…) have promised to move to Canada if Trump won in 2016, but, somehow, their sorry butts are still in the USA. We’ll airlift the cell-phoneless celebs to the Arctic Circle with nothing but a carton of Saran Wrap and some gum. 

Still on entertainment, I’d sign a decree mandating that the cast and audience (both at-home and in-studio) of “The View” embark on an epic eating contest. We’ll use their heads to plug any holes in the U.S.-Mexico border wall. 

Speaking of the border, I’d do some checking on the 3-million-plus illegal aliens who invaded the country in 2022. Questionable aliens we’ll hold for ransom. Bad ones we’ll use as slaves to clean up the Armpit Cities. Good ones? We’ll keep them and their hard-working values. In trade, we’ll UPS all the Antifa, store looters, liberal rioters, campus whiners and the three remaining reporters on CNN to a piranha-&-malaria-rich pond. 

Joe Biden, his administration and his organized crime family? I’d put them on trial for treason. But it wouldn’t be one of those regular trials with lawyers and a judge. No. It would be a trial by strength and spelling. Whoops! What’s in this envelope? The verdict? Already? Punt them all into a bubbling volcano. 

The IRS? Gone in a blink. Vamoose. Replaced by some workable — gasp! — sensible flat tax. Government red tape? Into the giant, new Johnny Boston Maximus Paper Shredder. Followed immediately by several hundreds of thousands of useless FBI and DOJ staff, their knee-high black riding boots, riding crops and monocles. 

I’d order Tom & Giselle to make up.  

I’d make Nancy Pelosi, AOC, the Squad, Chuck Schumer, Dick Durbin, Adam Schiff, and the four woke William S. Hart Union High District trustees and a whole laundry list of other school board trustees and mini tyrants across America to wear permanent ass hats so as to properly identify with their inner ass-hattedness. 

I’d bring back stricter physical fitness requirements to the military. Soldier, sailor, airman or USO performer identifying as Scarlett Johansson now has to run the qualifying 50-mile obstacle course in high heels. While carrying an annoying miniature poodle. Any admiral who identifies as Shakira will be given a pass to cross dress because it is, well — the Navy. 

Be forewarned. If elected Civil Servant Maximus, I’ll enact reparations for Polish-Americans. Being half-Polish, I look forward of an eternity of guaranteed income in paying myself for what previous generations of relatives did to ourselves… 

John Boston is Earth’s most prolific satirist. Vote for him. Often. Visit his most unwoke bookstore at And buy something…

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