John Boston | This November, I’m Running for the Oval Office

John Boston

I am running for the highest office in the land this November. I confess. My motives are far from altruistic. An episode sent me over the edge last week. After saving up for months, I finally had enough spare change to buy my life’s blood beverage — yummy Orange Gatorade in the 28-ounce bottle. It was three bucks. “THUH-reeee bucks !?!?!” he screamed. Four years ago? Forty-nine cents. Less in some neighborhoods where they allow shoplifting. I ended up drinking just half the bottle and pouring the rest in my gas tank. Both my car and I now ping when we surpass 3 mph. 

I probably shouldn’t pour Gatorade in my gas tank. But, same as Shell high-test, it does have electrolytes. You know something? Under Zombie Joe Biden and his baby-eating flying monkey leftists, every time I fill my tank, in a roundabout and money-laundering fashion, I’m buying ordnance for the Russians, Chinese, Iranians, Haitians, Mexican drug cartels and corny white supremacist groups who are actually FBI agents dressed as Catholics, burning bras and angrily chanting to bring back disco. 

Talk about destroying the country from the inside. 

Daily, thousands of Jeeps with personalized plates (NTHAMAS) and sporting machine gun turrets not offered standard at the local dealership, manned by armed young men, bearded and grumpy who couldn’t disco if you paid them, roll across our border. The southern one. Angry mobs fill the streets, chanting, “DEATH TO AMERICA!!” Worse? They’re our elected officials. At least in the Wild West, we had vigilantes. And land. Lots of land. With the starry sky above. 

That’s why I’m running Tuesday, Nov. 5, 2024, for the highest office in America. By the way. We’re not talking, “President.” I’m running for Emperor. Without the quotes. And just to show you how serious I am, no one else is running. 

Even if I were to win the presidency and enjoy support of both Houses of Congress AND the Supreme Court, my hands would be tied to initiate all the necessary reforms to save Old Glory and Western Civilization. The very first thing I’d do? After ordering air strikes on George Soros, I’d round up the countless sniveling Democrats in government, education, the arts, the media and the Hart school district and shove their heads so far up their a …    a …    a … — excuse me. Have to sneeze. 

— Choo. 

Bless me. 

It doesn’t take Dr. Jordan Peterson, a laser pointer and a GoFundMe page to connect that nearly every problem we face today is the result of a liberal. Catching leftists won’t be a problem as they believe physical fitness is racist and are so overweight they can’t run and once you catch them, being passivists, they can’t fight back. The more germane issue is: “After we round them up, what do we do with the gooey peanut butter mess?” 

As Your Next U.S. Emperor this November, I have the answer. After taking the very short oath of office (“I Am Me; Here We Go …) I will create America’s 51st state. I’m naming it, West A$$hollyholyleeuh. It’ll be just west of Alaska, atop the Bering Land Bridge, right next to the newly created John Boston National Irrationally Angry Giant Squid Feeding Grounds. Excuse me. I was just handed a note from staff. A moment of prayer, please. I was just informed the Bering Land Bridge has sunk. Pity. Oh well. Less grass to mow. As Emperor, I won’t let something like a state being completely underwater (like California) stop me. We’ll just move all the country’s Democrats, some with life preservers, some not, to West A$$hollyholyleeuh, state animal being the frozen platypus, which, from behind, looks like Nancy Pelosi. Each Democrat, via the U.S. Constitution, will get three-fifths of a vote. 

Divided by 3,256. 

West A$$-yada-yada being so far away, we’ll have to just accept our 51st state’s ballot suggestions via mail, to be collected, with joyful and smug smiles I might add, by members of the Republican Party who have been, of course, drinking. Questionable ballots (signed improperly or “my rap name,” with smudges, subtext, outright dangerous choices, unfunny MAGA one-liners or tofu stains) will be deemed, “unreadable” or “inappropriate” and the Democratic underwater submitter shall be subject to fines, imprisonment, ridicule and making kazoo noises as they walk across their jail cell. In their flippers. 

I’m going to shrink the current and heavily politicized FBI and CIA to one person for each bureau. They’ll share a 7-by-7 office in Washington, D.C., sitting across the same table for eight hours a day, regarding each other through magnifying glasses. 

I’ll eliminate the IRS and replace it with a two-tiered tax system. Conservatives will pay a sensible, ridiculously cheap and multi-tiered flat tax. Liberals will pay 11 times more along the same multi-tiered system, only instead of funding oingo-boingo, ludicrous and endless layers of fat, fantasy science, corruption and waste, we’ll eliminate the middleman. We’ll just burn the Democrats’ cash tax payments upon opening them. It’ll save billions. 

First Amendment protection? All mass media reporters and commentators will have to deliver their newscasts with a thin piece of baloney hanging from their mouths. If the baloney breaks or falls off, that means they’re lying and will be stoned to death coming back from commercial. 

Congressional reform? If you initiate a rider on a bill in the House or Senate — death penalty, preceded by pulling their pants down. On C-SPAN. 

Ditto for the Academy Awards. Death penalty for insufferable acceptance speeches or crappy movies. I’d add public whipping of the carcasses in designer gowns, but, knowing perverted Hollywood as I do, they’d only enjoy the attention.  


One small bit of government pork, if I may be permitted?  

If — excuse me — WHEN elected Emperor — I’m creating The U.S. National Global Warming Studies Institute. They’ll look into ways to heat up the water a quarter-degree in the Bering Sea so the dog-paddling and shivering Democrats can pretend they’re soaking in their hot tubs … 

Earth’s most prolific satirist, read John Boston’s latest, “The Unauthorized Autobiography of Joe Biden” at

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