All is lost.

The campaign is in complete disorder. Now lacking in any management whatsoever, we continue to sit on the broken down bus at this rest stop in Minnesota. There must be money to fix the bus in the campaign fund, but no one outside of McDougal himself and his former campaign manager know how to access those funds. At this point, the staff just wanders around aimlessly, trying to occupy the time. Some have fashioned the inflatable gorilla into a crude tent, where they are holding nightly religious revivals. Others have taken to turning tricks for passing truck drivers. Two of the interns went feral and disappeared off into the woods. Sometimes at night I can hear them howling at the moon.

The only staff member who has remained stoic in the face of this soul-crushing boredom is Fiberglass Caveman, McDougal's press secretary. This morning I found a typed press release on his desk, declaring that McDougal is making the elimination of Daylight Savings Time one of the cornerstones of his platform. I sent the statement out, expecting it to be ignored as usual. To my surprise, a reporter from the Duluth Sunshine Telegraph Register Tribune showed up to inquire about an interview with McDougal. The big man gave his consent, so the interview was arranged underneath the Gorilla Bigtop. I think if the interview had stayed on topic, it would have gone well. The elimination of Daylight Savings Time is actually something I agree with, as, I imagine, many of you do. Unfortunately, the interview strayed off topic very quickly. Here's a transcript:

DSTRT: So, I understand you want to make Daylight Savings Time a campaign issue?

McD: Absolutely. Those fat cats in Washington have misled the American people for too long. Daylight savings... Ha! While John Q. Public is sleeping in, the politicians are off lining their pockets with our precious daylight.

DSTRT: Um...

McD: Open your eyes, sir! It's a scam! There is no reason to save daylight in a modern society with the technology we have... sunlamps and such...

DSTRT: I don't think... uh...

The reporter is starting to look nervous and is beginning to sweat. As McDougal talks he gets more and more animated, first standing up, then waving his arms around ever more frantically.

McD: And think of all the benefits! Do you realize that if we don't set our clocks back in the Spring, by the summer the drive-in movie theaters will be able to open a whole hour earlier. And the Fourth of July fireworks! We've been stealing time from the birthday of our country! Why, as a red-blooded American, the very thought of it makes my blood... my red blood... boil. Boiling hot. Red hot. Blood... Say, would you like something to drink?

DSTRT: Yes! I'm... er... Wait.

McDougal hands him a glass. The reporter looks at it, relieved.

DSTRT: You know, for a second there... I thought you were going to give me blood.

Both laugh and McDougal sits back down. The reporter takes a sip of his drink, then immediately spits it out.

DSTRT: Ghaaa! What the hell is this?!

McD: That? Oh, that's poison. It's bad, huh?

DSTRT: What?! Why the hell would you give me poison?

McD: (chuckles) To kill you, of course. Why else would I give you poison?

DSTRT: (beginning to panic) Oh my God!

McD: Relax. You would have to drink the whole thing for it to kill you. It's kind of a weak poison really. As little as you drank, you probably won't even get sick.

DSTRT: So... So I'm OK?

McD: Well, you may notice a tiny bit of blood in your stool, but basically... yeah.

DSTRT: Jesus...

McD: So, what did it taste like?

DSTRT: What?

McD: The poison.

DSTRT: Wait a minute... If you wanted me dead, why didn't you just shoot me or something? I've seen quite a few guns laying around here. Other weapons too.

McD: (getting impatient) Well I didn't want you to die here! Then I would be stuck disposing of the body. The plan was that you would die on the drive home. The freeway really would have been perfect. Especially a nice fiery accident.

DSTRT: Um...

McD: Like I said, weak poison... slow acting... So, you said the poison tasted terrible?

DSTRT: Uh... Yeah?

McD: Terrible how? Like, what specifically made it bad?

DSTRT: I... I don't know... What?

McD: Well, do you have any recommendations on how I could make it taste better? Like, is there something I could add? I'd really rather not have a repeat of this situation.

McDougal Says We're Moving

Costumes Have Just Arrived

The Secret Files

This morning, I was attempting to locate our former campaign manager's files and came across McDougal's stash of personal documents. Since we've nothing better to report (bus still broken down in Minnesota and McDougal's gone missing again), I will share some of the contents of the dozens of three-ring binders containing documents scrawled in mixed media, including crayon, blood, and charcoal.

The first binder I opened was an incomplete autobiography on the big man dating back to 1114 B.C.

Excerpted from McDougal's unpublished autobiography and translated from the author's Portuguese:

(Please forgive any erroneous translations, as my Portuguese is not as strong as I had thought coming into this deal.)

The $40 Lay
by McDougal

In the steamy willows outside Baton Rouge, for which my hamburger with fries gets its nickname, I found the best $40 lay of this heretofore confounded millenium.

Let me tell it to her from the beginning.

I was flying a Corsair 2380A mock-up at 10000' with Ashcroft at the rotors when I saw the twinkle of a harlot's attractor in the bayou. "The Pipeline can wait" I told my mike, which just so happened to be wired to Ashcroft's ear. We dropped her down to telephone wire altitude and "to hell with CINCLANT" as we used to say to the bank over Bloody Marys, "let's bed some of Louisiana's finest".

I set her down in a marshy lot meant for local necking and the dropping of tonnage that I would not like to know of what character. The blades sang their quieting song as I donned my black stealth enviroblenz suit, earpiece with extrasensorial sensors, a briefcase full of Red Stripes,
Galaendeaewagean spark plugs, and condoms. I quickly killed Ashcroft as I realized he was a commodity whose options had recently become undesirable.

With a small GPS screen surgically inserted into my left palm (just before Burma, God help me), I tracked my coordinates and had a cheese danish and a Red Stripe mixed with whiskey. I found myself 3 miles from my intended lay, and daylight was rapidly approaching feathers.

"How do I get myself into these infernal situations?" I asked my small stuffed representation of Tubbs (from Miami Vice), which I carry for just such situational quandaries. I pulled his string and a muffled Tubbian Fishmonger voice told me "chase her down, pull her over, and give her the old Mallory Keaton, Ha Ha!"

I knew then that I must tennis match on.

Pulling a few shoots of browning swampgrass aside, I viewed my obective with the naked eye. In a ramshackle delicatessen or theatre with blazing oil lamps was the entire 2-Year-College of Natchitoches Swampers Cheerleader Flag Brigade en flagrante, dancing to the soundtrack of Risky Business.

I winked at an imagined vision of my left, and downed another Red Stripe. It looked to be an all nighter for "The Rouge Baton".

I flew through the door with guns blazing; girls screamed and hid under discarded panties and pom poms.

"McDougal is here!" I yelled,"and I want my Red Baron Pre-Heated!" The screams were replaced by vaguely muffled moans of interest from the four corners of the room, as the young dancers realized what fortune had brought them this hot and humid night.

"Put away your guns, Mr. McDougal," louder a red-haired young baton twirler, "We have some Red Stripes chilling in the icebox, if you'll have us - I mean them!" she reddened and giggled, waddling away as I patted her on the rump.

The rest, shall I say, is water under the moorings. I didn't finish the Pipeline until September aft, and I told the Baronial Ass who monitors flights to boil his head in a pot of cooking sherry and asparagus-tainted urine. As for the girls, well, the most piquish four were brought back to the Compound for a little reunion tour a few weeks ago, the rest have been 'hitting my digits' for phone sex at a silly rate, so much in fact that I gave them Edmonton's number.

Oh, and the $40, you ask? Still in my pocket, ha! I think if you're looking for a lesson in my little tale of indelicacies, it lies somewhere between the legs of a pre-law student in Crystal Springs.

Seriously though ...

Help Wanted - IN CHILE!

After a falling out* with our former campaign manager, McDougal is searching for a replacement.

Fearful that anyone hired within the borders of the United States of America would likely be a spy tied to the Ashcroft regime (mortal enemies who have hunted McDougal for six centuries) McDougal has taken the job hunt South of the Border.

Craig's List Posting in Santiago

* By falling out, I mean McDougal attacked him with a brick and threw him off the bus because he believed he was using x-ray glasses and laser technology to steal bits of his soul and sell it over time to the government of Guyana.

China Rhymes with Vagina

My campaign manager has asked me to write a position paper on our China policy.

I mean, my former campaign manager. The McDougal Administration believes in accountability. And accountability means not wasting money on idle policy wonks who can't be trusted to write position papers on their own without punching themselves in the face repeatedly with a brick and falling asleep on a platter of General Tso's Chicken.

Accountability means a lot more than just holding your neighbors responsible for things like invading some God-damned pacifists like Tibet, monkeying with exchange rates and selling millions of tons of cheap plastic trinkets made by prisoners. There's a lot of money in cheap plastic trinkets and prisoners are bored half the time anyway, so why not put the two together and make something of it? Also, those Chinese bastards have a ton of cash sitting around that I'd like to tap, so I'm not going to go off on them and risk not having a crack at that loot. The McDougal administration believes in doing what's best for the American people - and as the chief representative of the American people, It's my job to look out for what's good for the chief. Which is me. Look what sucking up to the Chinese bastards did for Wal*Mart. They sell plastic American flags, made in China, for $1.89. Cost, including ocean freight? About twenty-seven cents. Anybody else would have ordered flags from Chillicothe, Ohio at eighty-seven cents each. Business geniuses! I love 'em.*

But back to my original point - the McDougal administration believes in accountability, which means the Commander-in-Chief shouldn't have to waste his time writing some long, boring policy statement that no one's going to read anyway. As President, I will not be distracted by "policy." As President, it will be my job to make decisions. As President, I will be the chief decisioner in the government. It will be my job to make the decisions and the faceless policy wonks can then redefine the terms and facts to support those decisions.

The McDougal administration also believes in looking at the big picture and the importance of expertise. We will seek out the experts in whatever area we're concerned about and delegate the problems to those experts. In the case of China, everyone's all upset because the Chinese invaded Tibet and have been menacing Taiwan. That's too much information. If we let ourselves get sucked into too many problems, we'll never get out. Thus... and here's an executive decision... we will combine the Tibet issue and the Taiwan issue into one - I'm going to call it "Tai-Bet" and then bring in the best experts to deal with that. In the case of Tai-Bet, there's clearly one man who is the greatest living authority. Of course, I'm talking about Billy Blanks. Billy Blanks invented Tai-Bet and has studied it extensively. I'm going to make Billy Blanks the McDougal administration's ambassador to China; please consult with him if you have any further questions about the McDougal administration's China policy.


Thank you for your support.


MCDOUGAL

*Wal*Mart people: I'm going to be in a position to do a lot for you guys, if you catch my drift... Confucius say "Hand which scratch my back have other hand in pocket..." Capiche? Give me a call.

The McDougal Campaign Tour - Day 62

I feel like the campaign in slowly losing what little momentum we have gained since this thing began. Shit... It has been over two months now, and not a peep about the campaign in any publication, no matter how minor. Even after many costly re-shoots, no TV networks will air our campaign ads. They say they are "offensive" and "slanderous." Fuck those guys. The closest thing to media coverage we have gotten is, we have been the subject of inter-company memos in every major hotel chain, warning their employees not to book rooms for us under any circumstances. At least there are still plenty of independent, mom and pop hotels around. Although, it may not be long until word gets around to them too. The overnight lodging industry is a surprisingly tightly-knit community. Who knew? You would think they would want McDougal running roughshod over the competition, but when he got so drunk that he raped the Pepsi machine at the Holiday Inn in Spokane they knew the whole story at the Motel 6 in Poughkeepsie just a few days later. To make matters worse, we are burning through our campaign fund at an alarming rate. I'm trying desperately to schedule some fundraising dinners in a few major cities, but since I don't know where we will be on any given day, this is next to impossible.

McDougal's MP3 playlist:

White Lines - Grandmaster Flash
Fortunate Son - Creedence Clearwater Revival
Ride of the Valkyries - Wagner
Free Ride - Edgar Winter
Bombs Over Baghdad - Outkast
Highway to Hell - AC/DC
Crazy - Gnarls Barkley
Tiny Bubbles - Don Ho
Running With the Devil - Van Halen
City Hall - Tenacious D

Campaign Announcement

McDougal has been sober since some time Sunday afternoon. He's also not slept since. He's been in round the clock meetings with policy advisers, scholars, and strippers.

He's also issued his first actual platform statement to a conservative group in California (a state McDougal claims may or may not even be a part of the United States of America).

He wrote the following in crayon on the back of a Burger King bag and faxed it out this morning:

The Salton Sea is a 380 square miles lake/inland sea in southern
California. It is full of algae; sometimes it gets so bad that the
neighbors complain.
One of the first acts of my administration will be to
establish algae collection stations around the perimeter of the Salton Sea, both
to make it a more pleasant amenity and to produce biodiesel, the sales of which
will go to support my friends in the military-industrial complex.
Thank you
for your support.

Bad News

McDougal's been missing for almost three days. Campaign manager's gone too.

This can't be good. Search of the bus turned up this note taped to the campaign manager's briefcase:

Today I thought I'd finally try to figure out what's going on with this
"Badly Drawn Boy" kid I heard about some years ago.

I'm listening to "One Plus One." This song has a flute.

It's not really right for my Wednesday morning Feng Shui.

I guess I'll go check out "eddie from ohio."

I always thought these were the ...

Oh wait.

Eddie's apparently a girl.

Wow, this is some Indigo Girls sounding shit.

I'm gonna let her ride.

Hey, I just made a couple of lattes. Come on over and let's read New Yorker and do our toes and shit.

The View starts in just a minute.

Was what then?

[Kangol]

Yo EMD

[EMD]

Yeah, what's up man?

[Kangol]

There goes that girl they call Roxanne.She's all stuck up

[EMD]

Why you say that?

[Kangol]

Cause she wouldn't give a guy like me no rap

She was walking down the street so I said "Hello

I'm Kangol from UTFO."And she said "So?"

And I said "So?!? Baby don't you know?

I can sing, rap, and dance in just one show

Cause I'm Kangol, Mr. Sophisticata

As far as I'm concerned ain't nobody greater

From beginning to end and, to beginning

I never lose because I'm all about winning

But if I were to lose, I wouldn't be upset

Cause I'm not a gambler, I don't bet

I don't be in no casino, and baby while you knizzow

The izzi is the grizzeat Kizzangizzo."

I thought she'd be impress by my devious rap

I thought I had her caught cause I'm a sinister trap

I thought it'd be a piece of cake but it was nothing like that

I guess that's what I get for thinking, ain't that right, black?

Then crizzi to gizzone and seen number izzone

Crizzin ricking tizza of mizzac mic dizza

With the bang bang, brother I feel bad

But I ain't comitting suicide for no crab

But calling her a crab is just a figure of speech

Cause she's an apple, a pear, a plum, and a peach

I thought I had it in the palm of my hand

But man oh man, if I was grand I'd bang Roxanne

Chorus:

Roxanne, Roxanne, can't you understand?

Roxanne, Roxanne, I wanna be your man

[EMD]

You Kango, I don't think that you're dense

Buy you went about the matter with no experience

You should know, she doesn't need a guy like you

She needs a guy like me, with a high IQ

And she'll take to my rap, cause my rap's the best

The educated rapper MD will never fess

So when I met her, I wasted no time

But stuck up Roxanne paid me no mind

She thought my name was Barry, I told her it was Gary

She said she didn't like it so she chose to call me Barry

She said she'd love to marry, my baby she would carry

And if she had a baby, she'd name the baby Harry

Her mother's name is Baby, which is really quite contrary

Her face is really hairy, and you can say it's scary

So isn't not every, her father's a fairy

His job is secondary, in some military

He throws them to an ?electric camp? that wasn't voluntary

His daughter's name is Sherry, his sons are Tom and Jerry

Jerry had the flu but it was only temporary

Back in January, or was it February?

But everytime I say this rhyme it makes me kinda weary

It's only customary to give this commentary

Some say it's bad, some say it's legendary

You can search all you want, try your local library

You'll never find a rhyme like this in any dictionary

But do you know, after all that

All I received was a pat on the back

That's what you get, it happened to me

Ain't that right Mixmaster I-C-E

Chorus

[Kangol]

You thought you had a rose, you thought you was Cupid

But EMD, your rap was plain stupid

I know you're educated, but when will you learn?

Not all girls want to be involved with bookworms

You gotta be strong in a way she can't resist

So educated rapper, huh, bust this...

Since she's a new girl on the block

I had to let her know that I'm the debonoir Doc

I said "I'd like to speak to you if I can

And if I'm correct your name is Roxanne."

She said "How'd you know my name?"I said "It's getting around.

Right now baby you're the talk of the town

Please let me walk you to the corner, my rap will be brief."

She said "I've seen you before, you look like a thief."

I said "Me? The Doc? A hood, a rock?

Running around the street robbing people on the block?

Nah, that's not my style, that crime I'm not related

As far as I'm concerned I'm too sophisticated."

Then it seemed I got busy cause she cracked a smile

That let me know my rap was worth her while

She said "You call yourself a doctor?"I said "This is true."

She said "Explain to me really what doctors must do."

I said "This is very rare because I don't say this every day

There's a million medical skills a doctor displays

Dermatology is treatment of the skin

Infected and you'll see me and you'll know you're again

There's enthesiology, opthomology

Internal medicine and plastic surgery

Orpedic surgery and pathology

A disease involves a change of the body."

She said "Ooooh, that's very unique."

Gave me her number and kissed me on the cheek

She said she had to go but be back by 8

So to call her at 9 to arrange a date

[EMD]

Did you take her to the beach?

[Kangol]

That's what we planned

But she stood me up, Roxanne, Roxanne

Chorus

[Kangol]

And here's our gameplan

[EMD]

The beat is here, so we will reveal it

[Kangol & EMD]

And if you think it's soft, then Roxanne feel it!

[beat boxing and scratching]

I got he know

The McDougal Campaign Tour - Day 54

Campaign Manager's Journal - 10/15/2006 - Assrape Tennessee

Seriously, I think they filmed some of the scenes from Deliverance next to our hotel. The Banjo Boy helped me carry my luggage up. I bet it will be pretty easy for McDougal to score meth around here though. Silver linings...

I have half a mind to tell McDougal he isn't allowed to navigate anymore. I probably would if the man didn't scare the hell out of me. He's the scariest human being I've ever met, and I've been to prison.

Ok, it was one of those resort pens for white collar criminals... What did you expect? I'm in politics.

I actually miss that prison quite a bit now, given the condition of the "hotel" where we are staying. McDougal sleeps on the bus, of course, but the rest of us are stuck here wondering what those stains are (I'm pretty sure the ones on the carpet are blood, and I'm certain the ones on the pillows are semen. Those ones on the drywall are anybody's guess.) and hoping that duct tape on the shower head holds for one more night. The worst part is, the TVs don't even have cable. Some of the interns have never even seen a pair of rabbit ears until now, the spoiled little pricks. This afternoon, McDougal took some time out of his busy schedule and taught the interns the proper way to trash a hotel room. When the big man is on a tear, he makes Keith Moon look like a Cub Scout.

Earlier in the day I got a nice picture of campaign intern Jeff throwing his TV off the balcony. Unfortunately, Banjo Boy picked that moment to walk out of his office. The stitches look good on him though. They draw attention away from his eyes. That was before things got crazy. As I sit here typing this, the swimming pool is slowly filling back up, as raw sewage is now pumping directly into it. The stagnant water that was in it before is currently completely filling seventeen of the lower floor rooms. McDougal won that bet. I thought there would only be enough water to fill a dozen rooms, a baker's dozen at best. Most of the upper floor is on fire. Reminds me of New Orleans...

McDougal's McCousin & The Ladies Auxiliary

At 11:00 a.m. Thursday we were en route to a hastily arranged campaign event at Mount Rushmore, when McDougal got a call from his cousin Dougal Maguire - a second generation Mic recently relocated to some Southern US shithole where blue laws and pre-suffrage voting requirements remain steadfastly intact.

Dougal's cousin is a former IRA soldier who escaped imprisonment and likely death by firing squad by stowing away on a Royal Navy frigate bound for the West Indies. A stolen identity, stack of fake citizenship documents and a rented Mooney flying into Miami at 300 feet above sea level later, McDougal's cousin's a thriving Southern gentleman who now sips mint juleps with the governor beneath a proudly flapping Confederate battle flag on the statehouse grounds.

Seems we're "half way to St. Patrick's Day," according to McDougal's cousin and we must honor the mark by visiting his strip mall pub two doors down from the Wal-Mart in this socially retarded backwater town.

In case you misread anything I said above - I hate the South ... well with the exception of Oxford, Mississippi, where through the help of an airborne rohypnol dispenser and a gas mask I was able to bed the entire Ole Miss women's lacrosse team in 1997.

But we weren't going to Oxford, and I've long since given up on date rape.

The only reason to venture south of Washington, D.C., is if you're going down there to kill someone, which (though likely the ultimate outcome) wasn't why we were going. McDougal wanted to drink Irish Car Bombs and "grip hands with the regular folk ... Goddamnit, I wanna shake some hands!"

So, like 38 hours later, the McDougal campaign bus rolls into Cannonball Run, Tennessee, or whereve the hell we were and McDougal's convinced himself that he's there to fight a religious war against Wal-Mart. (A mission he promptly forgot as soon as he put eyes on his cousin Dougal, thank God ... I think.)

Turns out our campaign manager had tried to make the best of the change in plans (as he's wont to do) and instead of holding a campaign stop in front of a historic national monument, we were going to sit down with a crash of dirt farmers high on crank and muscodine wine and ask them to support McDougal's independent Presidential bid with their votes and their wallets.

The event was, of course, an absolute disaster. Those rednecks didn't want to hear McDougal's rambling leftist views on the WTO or his (what must have seemed to them) idealistically opposite plan to abolish minimum wage laws and Federal taxes. They didn't want to hear about his plan to legalize drugs and remove prescription requirements for any and all medications.

I was not aware that McDougal was campaigning on banning prescription requirements, but must admit his ideas seemed logically sound at the time. "Jesus Christ, we're a free market economy. People don't need to go sit in a doctor's office for 45 minutes just to get a bunch of muscle relaxers and LSD (McDougal is under the impression that doctors also prescribe hallucinogens. I've tried repeatedly to explain to him that just because HIS doctor prescribes them doesn't make that the norm.). For Christ's sake, the drug companies tell you about the diarrhea and whatever else you need to know right there on the commercial."

He then went on his canned anti-Wal-Mart/anti-Chinese rant. Well, he might has well gone down there and told those redneck crackers that Jesus was a homo who smoked crack cocaine and bedded Roman hookers (which he later actually did say) than to attack the Wal-Mart, which has become a cornerstone for these people. One stop shopping there. They can get their beats and collard greens and anti-freeze all in one place. They've even got rides for the kids. And thanks to their partnerships with the Chinese government, they can sell inferior pressed board dining room suites for $30 so these ignorant mucks can pimp their double wides in the latest in New Millennium White Trash Decor. And McDougal's gonna go down there and bad mouth this!?

We're lucky we weren't lynched.

Of course, no one's gonna come after McDougal unless their ridiculously armed and even more ridiculously drunk. Turns out, however, that down there, clearly 80% of the populace meets both of these criteria.

By midnight, we were in a full fledged gunfight with these drunken buffoons, when McDougal gets an idea that he's gonna try to salvage the evening by hosting an auction. He stands up in the middle of the whole thing and announces he's going to auction off a dozen of his female interns.

He took six bullets in the chest while trying to explain his plan, but you know that kind of shit doesn't phase McDougal. He eventually got the room settled and by about 1 a.m. the auction was in high gear, with a couple of the girls fetching close to a thousand dollars.

Me and my buddy Ray each picked up one for ourselves, and I got to admit, McDougal had come up with a great idea.

I was a little embarrassed to be
caught on camera with my purchase.


Ray, on the other hand, was "proud as punch."

McDougal Campaign Television Ad (rough draft)

ANNOUNCER: Has this ever happened to you?

A man wearing a t-shirt printed with the word VOTER is looking at a man wearing a suit and an ELEPHANT mask. ELEPHANT is shaking hands with PASSERBY with his right hand while picking PASSERBY's pocket with his left hand.

ANNOUNCER: You vote for a candidate based on their claims of honesty and integrity, only to find out that they are thieves and liars just like the crooks you voted out in the last election.

VOTER turns away in disgust, to see a man in a DONKEY mask holding a BABY and posing for a PHOTOGRAPHER. BABY is holding a lollipop. DONKEY kisses BABY and PHOTOGRAPHER snaps a picture. PHOTOGRAPHER then walks off frame. As soon as he is gone DONKEY takes lollipop away from BABY and then tosses BABY into trash can.

ANNOUNCER: Well, McDougal isn't going to make any empty promises.

Cut to cartoon of a giant pink gorilla in a business suit sitting astride the White House, smoking a cigar and stuffing his pockets with money.

ANNOUNCER: McDougal admits that if he is elected he will participate in graft and corruption on a massive scale.

Cut to VOTER looking confused and scratching head.

ANNOUNCER: Now, you may be asking yourself, "why should I vote for a candidate I know is corrupt? Because McDougal promises to make cronyism work for YOU!

Cut to UNCLE SAM pointing finger at camera.

ANNOUNCER: That's right! On election day the first 5,000 voters that cast their ballot for McDougal will be appointed to a cushy Federal job!

Cut to footage of a man sleeping at his desk.

ANNOUNCER: You could be ambassador to the Marshall Islands!

Cut to footage of tropical island [subliminal flash of topless native girl].

ANNOUNCER: Or maybe chairman of the committee that chooses postage stamp designs!

Cut to footage of stamps falling like rain [subliminal flash of YOUNG ELVIS having intercourse with MARILYN MONROE on top of a desk. Postage stamps are stuck all over their sweaty, naked bodies].

ANNOUNCER: Or maybe even a coveted Federal Judgeship!

Cut to footage of a gavel slamming down [subliminal flash of CLARENCE THOMAS doing a line of coke off a stripper's ass].

ANNOUNCER: But wait...

Cut to VOTER poking his head out of voting booth curtain and looking even more confused.

ANNOUNCER: You are probably asking yourself "isn't voting a secret process? How will McDougal know I voted for him?"

Cut to footage of a line of tractor trailers rolling down the freeway.

ANNOUNCER: Right now thousands of McDougal's special, pre-programmed Diebold voting machines are on their way to polling places nationwide. On election day they will beam their results, via wireless modem technology, directly to McDougal Campaign Headquarters.

Cut to picture of voting machine. On the machine's screen there are wheels, as on a slot machine. All three stop on a pink gorilla and quarters pour out of the machine.

ANNOUNCER: McDougal voters will be rewarded for their loyalty. And what about those people who don't vote for McDougal?

Voting/slot machine's wheels spin again. This time all land on lemons.

ANNOUNCER: They can expect a long and painful audit by the IRS!

Cut to footage of a man being led away in handcuffs by two large Federal agents. Two children are crying in the foreground.

ANNOUNCER: So vote for the honest crook!

Cut to McDougal for President logo.

ANNOUNCER: Vote early. Vote often. VOTE MCDOUGAL.

FAST-TALK ANNOUNCER: Paid for by the McDougal National Committee, a division of the Starbox corporation.

Foley/McDougal Link

In the wake of the Foley scandal and in the interest of full disclosure, McDougal has volunteered to make all his instant messenger chat sessions available to the public.

Here is one I recently had with the big man.

PorkBreakdown: Dude. Do NOT fall victim to that
scent.
NameWithheld: Hey, McDougal. How are you?
How's life on the campaign trail?
PorkBreakdown: Are you listening to me?
NameWithheld: I heard you came down last night.
Sorry I wasn't there.
PorkBreakdown: Yeah. No one was. I kicked in
the wall by the rose bush and climbed through. Had some eggs and
shit.
NameWithheld: Yeah, I saw that when I got back in
town. I think the back door was actually open.
PorkBreakdown: Yeah. I don't mean to imply that I ate some
shit at your house. I actually took a shit. Or left one. Whatever.
NameWithheld: Yes. We had the plumber out.
Don't sweat it. It did seem odd that you crapped in my kitchen sink
though. The kids were kind of freaked out. We thought the dog had
died.
PorkBreakdown: Yeah. That's what I was talking about
earlier.
NameWithheld:: ??
PorkBreakdown: Dude, your dog's pussy smells like
canteloupe.
PorkBreakdown: Hello?
NameWithheld: I'm sorry, what?
PorkBreakdown: YOu never noticed?
NameWithheld: My dog doesn't have
PorkBreakdown: Listen, you don't have to tell me.
I'm as upset as anyone.
NameWithheld: I doubt that.
PorkBreakdown: No, I'm serious. I don't know where
that smell came from.
NameWithheld: What smell?
PorkBreakdown: THe canteloupe. if it wasn't her
pussy, then oh God.
NameWithheld: Are we talking about the same thing?
PorkBreakdown: Your dog?
NameWithheld: My dog's name is Jack. He's a black
lab.
PorkBreakdown: Yeah. That's him.
NameWithheld: OK. He's been hiding under the dining
room table all morning. Did you do something to him?
PorkBreakdown: Nothing unnatural, if that's what you
mean.
NameWithheld: Did you hurt Jack?
PorkBreakdown: Oh, God no. But he hurt me,
man. He hurt me BAD.
NameWithheld: Did he bite you?
PorkBreakdown: I wish.
NameWithheld: Do I want to know what happened?
PorkBreakdown: I think maybe as a safety precaution,
yes.
NameWithheld: OK.
PorkBreakdown: So
PorkBreakdown: Like I said, her pussy smells like
canteloupe.
NameWithheld: His.
PorkBreakdown: Whatever.
NameWithheld: Just so we're clear. I think it's an
important point.
PorkBreakdown: Anyway, don't put your mouth near it.
NameWithheld: You know what. Forget it. I
don't want to hear anymore.
PorkBreakdown: Just listen.
**NameWithheld has signed off**

At least there's nothing incriminating in McDougal's. I think the campaign is on pretty solid ground from here on out.

River of Tears

I was on a wagon train with McDougal in the early 1840's. We were attacked by panthers somewhere near Oklahoma. There was a whole brigade of them -- I don't know, maybe 40 or so. Well, to be honest, they weren't all panthers. There were also a bunch of foxes, zebras, goats and chickens mixed in there. They were led by a single heavyset Guatemalan striding a twin-engine Buick Leviathan (coupe).

Of course we were traveling light as hell back in those days and were protected only by our wits, superior strength, and an army of 11,000 French schoolchildren packing bazookas and a pound of c4 each.

So goddamn McDougal freaks out on me. Starts ripping at his shirt and crying. Just crying like a damn baby.

McDougal cries tears of blood.

And in great quantities.

Within about eight minutes he cried enough blood to form a river. A river of blood that washed away everyone and everything within a 60 mile radius. I only survived by building an ark out of whiskey barrels and moth balls.

I sailed that river of blood for 60 years until it finally dumped me and my boat into the mouth of hell.

When I got there, goddamned McDougal greeted me with a warm smile and a hundred dollar bill.

"Why you gotta cry so bad?" I asked him.

He didn't know.

He never does.

McDougal Fast Blast

Today on the campaign trail, we saw a family of Inuits hitchiking.

That reminded me of the time McDougal made a canoe with the skin of a family of Inuits.

Then he filled it witch cream cheese and ate it.

Buttocracy

Couple weeks ago (before our Northern excursion), the campaign caravan was rollin' through Minnesota. We'd just missed a campaign stop in Duluth due to a combination of factors involving McDougal eating our GPS receiver, John Ashcroft, and a surprising lack of cartographic and geography skills among McDougal's top advisors.

McDougal was stoned to the bejesus on a solution of mescaline, robitussin and whale butter. He dropped trow sometime around Noon and at the time I first considered dispatching this report, it was well after 7 p.m.

McDougal had spent the better part of seven hours "accidentally" shoving small household items up his ass. No one knows exactly what all the big man had put up there, but we had confirmed reports of the following items missing from the bus:

• three Star Wars figures
• a roll of toilet paper
• two Gameboys
• One of those cool Razor phones
• One 16-oz plastic tumbler of Fresca
• Four lavalier microphones
• Mic stand
• boom
• our sound guy

By about 9 o'clock, McDougal was visibly uncomfortable. Sweating and coughing, occasionally breaking into tears. It was then that he made his confession. Tearfully and with some measure of shame, he admitted to "accidentally" maybe "getting some stuff in my butt."

Since then, McDougal has banned pantlessness on the bus and with the exception of a few paid positions has actually outlawed pantslessness for all staffers and interns at all times. He's even considering adding a pantless ban to his campaign platform, citing the great success his nemesis John Ashcroft had covering the nasty teets of Lady Liberty.

"America wants this," McDougal decreed. "And if I can spare one man, woman, or child the pain I experienced in this dreadful buttific catastrophe, then it will all be worth it."

{petry Hrour qurh MCDOUGAL

Advice from on high
for those who know nigh
and wont into Balderdash do fly:

The Smith and the Wesson: a graham of wheat
germ
(Nothing yet learned from this avuncular firm)

Travel on -
pack soy like mussels
in a fitted skirt

leather, she wore the lady of wonk
Stop not 'til you --

Fitherington, Schwartz, Melville and Monk.

Ahhh ...
The firmest of firms
All lace and panties
Too rich for our blood
(whiskey shanties)

The old lady come lately
and around she did
telling secrets she ought have kept hid

Her father she drank, buffled and swore
The young filligrees ready and looking to score
Pollution they said had worn down her teeth
The hot seat had warmed her behind from beneath

And this that she said to she and her brother:

"Barely awakened in me, the thoughts of another.
Long may she ride, this valley's no gorge -
These mountains from moles and onward we forge
'til thoughts are alone: no you nor me"

Wont was she to say the damnedest of things,
her thoughts like mites on gilded wings
they peck and they poke, though seldom sink in

And into whimsy never again.

Thine this and thine that in a strawberry hat and mine is not to wonder
For on this road, I sought clear skies but all along there was thunder.

No facts have been uttered and no fiction buttered

And I no wiser than then.

And nothing is true,
but alone here I sit
Smelling like shit
And always dripping of goo.

McDougal in the Twenty-Third Century (excerpt)

Copyright 1983, Starbox Press

The council decided that McDougal should be banished to a planet in a distant galaxy. Xerxes would be allowed to accompany him so that his education about 23rd Century life might continue, however McDougal would no longer be allowed access to modern technology. It would take years to repair the damage done to Earth's capitol city, and even with the Alien Overlords sending in the latest cleanup technology, they still could not guarantee that the area would be free from contamination.

There were many planets to which the Overlords allowed Earthlings to travel that had become quite popular as vacation destinations. The planet that had been chosen for McDougal was not one of these. This was not because the planet was inhospitable. Far from it, in fact. It was remarkably similar to Earth in nearly every respect. It was even inhabited by a race of creatures almost identical to humans. That is, identical in every respect save one.

The human eyeball is a remarkable piece of equipment. The only organ more remarkable is the human brain. The eye, you see, has one potential flaw. Because of the way its lens is constructed, all of the information the eye perceives is broadcast to the brain upside-down. Fortunately for us, our remarkable brains are able to interpret this information so that we think of our feet as being down and the sky being up. The brains of the dominant race of the planet to which McDougal and Xerxes were about to be sent, so humanlike in every other respect, were not able to perform this feat that we take for granted. This biological quirk resulted in these creatures having an extremely pessimistic worldview. Instead of seeing the sky as a realm of limitless possibility soaring above them, they saw it as a frightening void which all living creatures dangled above precariously. Outdoors they walked around staring at their feet, contemplating their tenuous grasp on the planet above them, too terrified to gaze down into the blue abyss. They preferred to spend their time indoors, inside houses with low ceilings, which they found comforting, and few windows. In their entire history they had never constructed a building with a second floor, much less lofty structures such as pyramids or skyscrapers.

This race viewed humans as unbearably cheerful and optimistic creatures. When the aliens arrived to conquer this backwater planet they were surprised that the residents did not put up any sort of resistance, as the Earthlings had. In fact, many seemed almost relieved by the arrival of the aliens. This was because most of the planet's major religions predicted that one day something malevolent would rise up from the void and destroy them. The most religious of these creatures were naturally relieved to find they had been on the right track all of their lives. Once the aliens conquered the planet, however, they had little idea what to do with it. There was nothing in the way of technology to exploit. In their millennia of existence the residents of the planet had accomplished very little. They were mainly a medieval agrarian society, due to the fact that farming was the one occupation that allowed them to spend most of the day gazing up at the dirt. But now, because the planet was completely devoid of modern technology, the Alien Overlords considered it the perfect prison for McDougal.

For more information, click here.

End of the world

Jesus God, why didn't anyone tell us?

They fucking celebrate Thanksgiving in October up here?

Why, why, why? For the love of the Sweet baby Jesus and all things holy why didn't anyone tell us the fucking Canucks celebrate Thanksgiving in OCTOBER!?!?

Crazy ass uberYanks.

What the shitting hell do they have to be thankful about anyway? They can't even vote!

We're comin' home right the hell now.

(Also, new McDougal Beer Stein Available.)

Public Service Announcement

How to be a Gothic Lolita

The search for a running mate continues...

I snuck across the border into the U.S. again last night, with Tina the intern. If McDougal's presidential bid is going to be taken seriously he needs to find a proper running mate, and Canada is not the place to do it. I've been arranging secret meetings with prominent politicians who are either independents or considered outsiders within their own political parties, hoping that I can convince one to come over to our side. I think having an actual experienced politician on the ticket would do wonders for our campaign. Unfortunately everyone I've talked to feels that associating with McDougal is too much of a risk to their career. Last night's meeting with Congressman and 2004 Presidential Candidate Dennis Kucinich (D - OH) went well, I think, but he politely declined our offer. However, he did wish McDougal good luck with the campaign.

McDougal Fast Facts

• Invented margarine & frozen yogurt.
• Once slept for 113 hours straight.
• Has three kidneys (bought one from a Peruvian hustler in 1973 and had it installed by an Amerasian Chiropidist as a back-up. Has only had to use it eleven times, but it paid for itself after a single use.)
• Lived next to Carl Perkins for three years. The two never spoke, but McDougal once saw him naked.
• Ghost wrote "Big Fish" and most of Saul Bellow's early stuff.
• Uses a portable difribulator as an alarm clock and has not overslept in almost two years.
• Thinks it's funny when people call decaf coffee "unleaded."
• Doesn't understand why no one's laughing when he makes them drink gasoline.
• Can hold his breath for over nine minutes.
• Lost three of his fingers in an ill-advised bar bet.
• Still has thirteen (not including the ten attached to his hands)
• Half Cherokee, half ninja
• Puts the "man" in manual.
• Puts his pots in the oven for storage
• Eagerly anticipating Roger Ebert's death
• Prefers Barnaby Jones to CSI
• Eats raw onions like apples
• Smells like oak leaves, cinammon and lavender
• Prefers cats to dogs
• Especially with real butter
• Prefers Muriel Hemingway to Ernest Borgnine
• Despite his earnest proclamations to the contrary, the man can't yodel to save his life
• Knows Big Foot personally
• Knows Farsi
• Knows Fonzi
• Has never met Potsie
• Has never seen Tootsie
• Born deep in the Rwenzori Mountains more than 11,000 years ago
• Raised by Buddy Ebsen and Lakshmi.
• Has the world record high score in Triple Word Yahtzee
• Speaks Dalmatian
• Invented the cure for Tick-borne meningoencephalitis
• Founded the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda in 1999
• Favorite food: Bangers & Mash

Then & Now (Part I)

As shitty as it is up here in Canada, we've really started to make some headway with the press. The liberal media seem to find our Northern campaign quite charming and ... well ... "cute."

"No. We're Americans," I assured them, but they weren't buying it. McDougal knew it too, but that obstinate bastard wouldn't admit it to me. I told that big jackass that we didn't need to make our own passports. I don't care how good McDougal was at Caligraphy, there's only so much you can do with a box of four crayons from the Cracker Barrel. Still, that motherfucker can write the shit out of some fancy letters.

With the exception of TLM, most press inquiries have come from lesser publications like Entertainment Tonight, Cheri, Oui, and some rag called the National Review.

"They're not buying it, McDougal," I whispered. He pretended not to hear me.

Some uppity jackass from the National Review met us in Winnipeg with a fucking cassette recorder, a 35 mm camera, and absolutely no weaponry to speak of.

The sergeant -- at least I think that was his rank. It's so hard to tell with those Turkish uniforms. They're E-3's have more silver and gold shit on their dress uniforms than an American Colonel. These Nato assignments were always tough. Especially for a "company" man such as myself. McDougal was oblivious. I don't know if he was that cool under pressure or if it had something to do with that tranquilizer dart that Marlon Perkins hit him with that morning.

Fucking tart. I don't even know if he was American.

Fucking Tart: Good afternoon, Mr. McDougal. It's a pleasure to make your aquaintance.

McDougal: Take that cock out of your mouth and talk to me like a man.

Fucking Tart:I beg your pardon, sir.

McDougal: I'll snap your pencil neck, Dexter.

Fucking Tart: Are you threatening me, sir?

McDougal: Call me sir one more time and I'll rip your lung out.

Fucking Tart: Well, I never.

McDougal: Just wait.

Fucking Tart: Are you cancelling the interview?

McDougal: Are you dreaming of fellating me?

Fucking Tart: Are you aware that Canada is a sovereign country?

And that was the last question that liberal dandy would ever ask.

"Wat the shit hell does Canada have to do with this?" McDougal finally asked me. I told him I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. "You will, my friend," he said. "One day, you will."

The McDougal Campaign Tour - Day 44

CAMPAIGN MANAGER'S JOURNAL - 10/5/2006 - FUCKING CANADA

We're wasting our time up here, but McDougal won't hear of it. Ever since he came up with his "brilliant" scheme to capture 100% of the Canadian vote he has been in his best mood of the whole campaign. I, on the other hand, have slipped into crippling depression. Last night one of the interns caught me weeping softly with the barrel of McDougal's elephant rifle in my mouth. When McDougal heard about this he picked me up by the shoulders and shook me like a sugar packet.

"God damn you, don't crack up on me now," he screamed, "I need you to talk to these Canadans for me! They speak half English and half French. You know... Whadyoucallit...? Creole!"

I couldn't muster the energy to explain what "bilingual" actually means.

This has been a week plagued with setbacks. Defeats snagged, at the last minute, from the jaws of victory. Before we took off on this ill-advised Canada excursion Fiberglass Caveman came through for us in a big way. We actually had a reporter show up to cover the campaign. He wanted to do an interview with the big man for a publication called Thug Life Magazine. I doubt the interview will ever make it to press though. Or if it does, the accompanying article will be less than favorable. The interview started off on such a good footing too... Well, I'll let you guys decide. Here's the complete transcript:

TLM: What are you packing?

McDougal: Oh, this? It's a Desert Eagle fifty caliber. I chose it for its unsurpassed stopping power.

TLM: East Coast or West Coast?

McDougal: Dirty South, actually.

TLM: You heard that Young Dro?

McDougal: Oh yes! "Shoulder Lean" is tight. Say, speaking of which... Did you that my tour bus used to belong to Dr. Dre?

TLM: Word? You rollin' with the chronic up in there?

McDougal: Well, I'm smoking meth mostly, but sometimes, yeah. Oh, and doing Powerballs.

TLM: Powerballs?

McDougal: They're a mixture of cocaine, heroin and pure powdered nicotine that I get from a friend. He works for Phillip Morris. They're addictive as hell. I can't get enough of those things.

TLM: Yo, a couple of weeks ago you admitted that you tortured a terrorist suspect in Afghanistan. Don't you think that shit is political suicide given the uproar caused by the abuse at Abu Ghraib and allegations of prisoner mistreatment at Guantanamo Bay?

McDougal: What? Oh, I'm sorry! Does the thought of a terrorist getting a much-deserved ass beating make your ovaries hurt? Look, if you want an omelet you're going to have to break a few skulls! That's life junior. And another thing, he was no "suspect." Not ten seconds before, that little rat bastard launched a rocket at... You know what? FUCK YOU! (McDougal overturns table) This interview is OVER! (Pulls door off hinges and storms out of room)

The Midnight Niggler

In some ways, we all knew McD was The Midnight Niggler. From the very first incident in Kansas ... we knew.

I was eating breakfast and watching the Katie Couric with an Asian whore the morning after that first niggle went down: three left for dead in a soybean field on the edge of a KC suburb. Katie (of course) reported it with grace and aplomb, but I knew this was no good. McDougal was behind it, I could feel it in my guts. And so could she.

I called him like nothing was up. "Yo D, how's it hanging?" I mustered.

"I'm the Midnight Niggler," he said and hung up.

The next three niggles were in Oregon and Idaho, respectively. I drove in vain across half the goddamn country trying to catch McDougal and put a stop to it all.

Who was I kidding? Thirty six hours and 14 states into my quest, I was spent. Shot. Wasted. I pulled into Coueur d'Alene and checked into a motor hotel, showered, and settled in to bed with The Bible and wept through Leviticus.

Few hours later, I get a call from a weeping Senator Biden. McDougal, he tells me, framed a parish priest in Tampa, flew to Belize and shroomed his way to The Fractal Could Castle.

I see McDougal a couple times a year since then. We never speak of the niggling. Really, we don't speak at all.

Her Majesty's Finest Hour

As many of you are aware, McDougal doesn't follow current events as much as we on the campaign tour would like him to. This is generally fine as he gets a daily debriefing from our new intern Diana "Betsy" Ross-Permanente.

And usually once she has him depanted, she tells him what's going on in the world.

We've only started the daily debriefings in the past week, so there is a lot of old news that we just let go (e.g. US History from 1700 to present). Among news deemed not worthy of covering in Ross-Permanente's News Hour was the death of Princess Diana.

This news, however, made its way to McDougal last night via a four-year-old issue of the Weekly World News McDougal found on the floor of a rest stop john just outside of Ontario. Needless to say, the news sent McDougal into a drug-fueled hallucinatory bender that involved opium, ketamine and a quart of Yak's blood.

Oddly, McDougal reached a point of clarity about six hours into the deal and announced that we will not let Her Majesty's Empire fall because of this. (McDougal is unaware of the Royal Divorce, and we intend to keep it that way.)

Also, when he says "Her Majesty," we're pretty sure he's referring to Queen Mary I, whom he believes still rules England.

"We've already lost Calais," he said. "We must keep the Kingdom intact or we will never succeed in bringing back the true Church."

How does McDougal plan to keep the kingdom intact and win back Calais?

He has issued a proclamation that today be marked as "Her Majesty's Finest Hour," and has ordered that we all speak in English accents for the rest of the day.

We get points for using words like bloody, loo, lift, flat, and defenestrate.

Also, we are required to use British spelling of the words humour, colour, and innocuous.

And Now A Word from our Sponsor

The Hanged Man Movie

He's in development

I'm typing this in a very uncomfortable position and have been asked to take "dictation" from the big man. Dictation may or not mean what you think.

Best we can figure, sometime in the past half hour, McDougal got into the tour bus's freon reserve and has augmented his buzz by drinking all of the brake fluid and anti-freeze from the engine. He is, as best we can tell, celebrating the recent deal he's signed with Starbox Pictures to be the subject of a seven-figure documentary about his 2008 Presidential campaign.

We are unsure of whether anything has been inked or if any cash has changed hands, but I would guess that the big guy has at least secured some kind of retainer; as it is generally his policy not to talk to anyone in the media without a payment of some kind (generally ranging from fellatio to bus fare or a 40-ounce beer or sometimes up to $64,000).

We're currently somewhere in Canada, but I'm not sure where, as McDougal has built a 2-foot-thick concrete and steel barrier separating the driver from the rest of the bus (a barrier, McDougal explained, that was necessary to prevent acts of terrorism that he suspects our driver may be planning. The driver is named Hoakey and is an Inuit, which McDougal explained was "too brown to be trusted."). One of our interns had GPS on his cell phone, but when McDougal realized we knew where we were, he beat the intern to death with a sock full of hand sanitizer and $3.00 in nickels and ate the phone. McDougal has yet to pass the phone, but is convinced now that he's made a mistake, as he believes John Ashcroft now has a direct read on his location.

"He'll put a Pershing missile smack dab in the middle of my large intestine without batting a fascist eye," he explained to the border guard when we crossed into Canada. He then told him our nation's "top secret" plan to keep "dirty foreigners" out of our "morally pristine" country.

"We're building a 700-mile wall across the Pacific Ocean," he said. "That way we can keep out the Haitians AND the sharks."

McDougal's eratic behavior was enough to prompt a search of the bus, which was shockingly innefectual, as the guards and the drug-sniffing dogs were unable to locate the six pounds of hash, three dead bodies, and $8 Million in stolen Inca gold stored in the floorboard.

They did, however, "discover" McDougal's 60-pound bag of Habanero Doritos, which they immediately confiscated to "conduct flavor tests on volunteers from the local community."

But I digress.

Seems this smarmy producer type wants to make a movie about the legend of McDougal. And McDougal's been off his rocker since they spoke.

I'm not sure what bill of goods this kid sold him, as McDougal has already turned down movie rights from George Lucas, Terry Gilliam, and the Polish Brothers. Rumor in the camp is that Steven Spielberg was given the green light to produce and direct McDougal's unauthorized biography and had cast Marlon Brando to play the big man. Brando died seven weeks later. Gilliam, I hear, was going to use the Penn brother. And before that there was Candy, Belushi, and the other guy from Boosom Buddies.

You see where this is going, right?

God, how many people have to die?

Im in dEVelopment

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