In this nation of the United Confederate States of Something or Other we have a crazy bi-eight year tradition called a "leap year" in which we append an extra day on the end of some month that ends with an "eee" sound. The roots of this tradition stem back to the Roman tribes of Babylonia which thought that unless they confused everyone by randomly adding a day to the calendar every four years the Earth would get sucked into a black hole and explode.

While this tradition served it's purpose for many billions of years our forefathers, who should not be confused with the TV show "My Two Dads" felt this wasn't nearly confusing enough and instated a new tradition called "electing a president" which consisted of putting a few escaped insane asylum patients on a podium and everyone in the country would vote for the one that sucked the least. Then that person would run the country and hopefully not cause the apocalypse.

While trying to decide which one of these candidates is slightly less horrible than the other is enough to make you want to kill yourself by ramming your head up Richard Gere's ass and having the gerbil inside slowly gnaw off your face, the real torment lies along the would be officials "campaign trail" or "path of carnage" as I call it.

The presidential campaign is as inescapable as the gravitational pull of Anna Nicole Smith's ass. Even the dead cannot avoid the flood of media advertising that accompanies a election which prompts some of them to rise from the grave and run for Senate like Strom Thurman did.

These shameless self advertisements usually consist of the would be president promising you that he can fix all the problems with the country despite the fact that he'd need a foreknowledge of the future in order to know if his plan for legalizing fully automatic limpet mine launchers will actually create jobs in the peanut butter industry or not. It's really just a bunch of guess work whapped with insane promises. It's kind of like opening your nicely wrapped birthday present only to find a box full of flesh eating bacteria.

All this got me thinking, I can make less than educated guesses. I can lie. My mental health is questionable. Why can't I be president? Then it dawned on me that campaigning would be rather difficult considering I'm wanted by various authority figures in every state that has either the letter "u" or "r" in it. Then I thought, "Why does the president have to be human shaped?" Sure something along those lines is in the Constitution, but if the DMCA can make it into law then congress must only be using that document as a loose set of suggestions these days.

Then, I had an epiphany, Magic Eight Ball for President. Why not? The Magic Eight Ball has all of the necessary requirements for being president in the respect that it is a tangible object and not something I imagined. The Magic Eight Ball can answer any question and like a human president it will probably give you two different answers if you ask it the same question twice.

Now some people may think that a magic eight ball wouldn't have the necessary skills to run a successful presidential campaign. So, to all those stupid, stupid people that would think such a thing I say to them, "Go to hell you fucking communist!" The Magic Eight Ball is more than qualified. Our last presidents only qualification seemed to be that he's made of matter of some variety. The Magic Eight Ball certainly is all that, plus it can be shaken real hard without its head falling off. Plus it can be "reprogrammed" with different labels to appeal to different demographics. For example, "Yes" can be changed to "Hells yeah biatch!" and "Outlook Unclear" can be changed to "Fuck Off Nigga! I'll Fucking Bust a Cap in Dat Punk Ass!" to appeal to all those gangster rappers who's voting eligibility hasn't been revoked because of multiple felony convictions.

Some of the wisest philosophers that were later involved in horrible car accidents and incurred massive brain trauma have pondered during their sponge baths what would happen if instead of Richard Nixon the Magic Eight Ball had faced off against Kennedy in the famed 1960's debate. While we will never know what the outcome exactly would have been, one thing is certain. =It would have been a confrontation of biblical proportions, because the Magic Eight Ball doesn't fuck around. The Magic Eight Ball will fucking cut you. The Magic Eight Ball will dice you into a god damn pile of meat you worthless filthy beggar so don't get in the Eight Ball's fucking way. Will the Magic Eight Ball give you any more warnings? "Definitely Not."

So remember when your in that voting booth in November, a vote for the Magic Eight Ball is a vote for you not being killed. If you like your pitiful little existence you'll vote for the Magic Eight Ball.

The Magic Eight Ball also stands for family values and believes that children are the future or some crap like that.