A Moveable Country

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When on November 8th America went to the polls and elected Donald Duck as president, I was horrified. The following day I was depressed and horrified. As of this writing I’m no longer depressed but I remain horrified and dismayed. I wasn’t all of these things because a cartoon had been elected president; I was all these things because I now realized that half the people in the country I live in believe in things that aren’t true and don’t believe in things that are true because the untrue things are more interesting to believe in; and also because their concept of the entire world is that which exists within the boundary of their workplace, watering hole, and lawn mower shed; and because they spent a year and a half watching someone demonstrate beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the most foul creation since Velveeta cheese, and they figured based on that he should run the country. Apparently he’s akin to Good King David, the slayer of the politico Goliath and the founder of a new great dynasty. Uh huh. And who’d like to play the role of Uriah in this biblical story?

Not me. That’s why I voted for the goofy communist lady that’s married to the Hindenburg.

But as I mentioned to friends at the time (okay, I have very few friends, okay one, and what I mean is I thought something out loud and one of the cats was in the room at the time, which I feel counts) thinking about the fifty million and not the individual, “It’s them that concerns me, not so much him.”

That was before he moved into the White House and found the Executive Order form booklet that Obama forgot to lock back up in the maid’s pantry–did you even know this Executive Order thing was a thing!? I didn’t, and I took Government in high school. So, we’re a system of checks and balances unless somebody decides they want to be dictator in which case everybody has to be okay with that? Apparently that’s how it works. And after a week of Duck Dynasty Executive Orders, the last one which I believe expelled the Jews from Spain, I’m now convinced that he–as well as the minions that put him there–are a threat to America and the rest of the world. Being an American I am now less safe than I was two weeks ago. And apparently the members of the Republican Party who are capable of objecting are not going to object. Instead they’re just going to watch the world melt and hope they don’t get messy, because objecting would damage their careers. And that’s the most important thing. They’re playing it smart because they are fully aware–as history has shown–that when things get complicated, dicey, and dangerous, whores always do really well (Wikipedia Salome and John the Baptist for further comparative reference).

I know previously I had said that I was going to move to Japan. However, I have found that this has some impractical aspects to it, one of which is the cats having to be put into quarantine for six months which I’m sure they’re not going to go for. It is because of this that I have therefore decided to secede from the Union. I know California is actually attempting the same thing, but they have to have a referendum and wait a couple years, and get a gazillion signatures, and deal with a whole lot of red tape. I on the other hand don’t have to do any of that because I don’t feel like it. And so as of this moment I’m declaring myself a sovereign nation. The name of this nation is Plumland. I was thinking of Plumania but that sounds like a mental disorder and that’s the thing I’m trying to distance myself from in seceding. I also considered Allen, thinking I could then be friends with Chad, but I don’t think anybody takes Chad seriously so I’m going with Plumland. I couldn’t come up with anything else that seemed appropriate, but I did give it a lot of thought. Well, not a lot of thought, but certainly more thought than did the people who named Newfoundland. That was just lazy. What if everybody had done that?

Plumland exists wherever I am and includes everything within a 100-foot radius. This includes up and down. For example, if I’m in the lobby of the Chrysler building, then the 11th floor would not be in Plumland. But if I’m in the elevator and have departed from the lobby and moved beyond the first floor, then it is. Even if I’m in, like, Sweden I would still be in Plumland. Also, as a moveable yet still sovereign nation, I would have diplomatic immunity, which means If I’m in Sweden I could spray paint “I Hate Sweden” on King Olaf’s tomb and nobody could do anything about it other than ask me to leave. So that’s a perk. Not that I would do that. I’m just saying I could if I wanted to. On the downside, as a new country I’m not yet entirely self-sufficient, which is why I have to still import all my food from America.

In case you want to visit Plumland (which actually you might not have a choice about, especially if I’m standing next to you) I have laid out the country’s core beliefs, which I’m working into some sort of pledge of allegiance. The draft goes thusly: “I believe–

1) That all people are created equal, except that about a third go bad by age ten and really should be kept in a separate storage facility.

2) The use of torture for the purpose of obtaining information from a potential enemy is wrong. Torture is defined as any continuous physical act committed upon a person that they would prefer you stop doing.

3) All individuals, whether they are Plumlandians or citizens of other nations including America, have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness unless the thing that makes them happy is something I find annoying.

4) If you can’t fit your truck into one parking space then you have to buy a smaller truck.

5) All immigrants should be thoroughly vetted by first being asked, “May I help you?” If there is no response, the next question should be, “Are you lost?” (preferably in a language other than English).

6) Freedom of speech is an unalienable right. But if you have something to say you need to raise your hand first. And try not to say something stupid. Also, keep in mind that silence is golden. And also nobody likes an idiot who knows their rights. Just FYI.

The capital of Plumland is My Livingroom. I’m not sure what I’m going to go with for a National Anthem but I’m leaning towards Seals’ and Crofts’ “Summer Breeze.”

So while I’m fine now, I realize that half of America (soon to be all of America) is still stuck between a rock and a giant cockroach until the the latter is convicted of treason or whatever heinous activity the Russians are able to verify, and sentenced to Leavenworth for the rest of his life, which could take months if not years. To avoid this sort of thing from happening in the future, with the next election, I would suggest that an alteration to the balloting system be put in place. This will be a lot easier than trying to fix the electoral college since nobody knows how it works in the first place, thus making fixing it difficult. What I propose is that there be one question at the top of the ballot. If you answer this question correctly, your vote counts. If you don’t answer the question correctly, your vote doesn’t count. Voters will never be told if they answered the question correctly or not, so everybody’s self-esteem will remain intact (apparently Democrats think this is really important. Whatever). This would be the question:

What ocean is next to California?

A) The Californian
B) The Mississippi
C) The Biggin’
D) Who Cares?
E) None of the above

Try this system and see if it doesn’t help improve the quality of people you elect as presidents. In the meantime, should you not want to wait for change, feel free to apply for citizenship in Plumland. There will be a test but it’s not too hard. You just have to memorize the words to “Summer Breeze.”

2 thoughts on “A Moveable Country

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