See, really, the whole thing started months ago...no wait, it was almost seven years ago. It all gets condensed like milk, like Gatorade, like the little honey mustard packages that come with processed pieces of fried chicken bits. Yesterday I was--I was that guy over there.

(Yes, that one there.)

And everything was different. There were different boundaries, lines in the sand, pieces of jewelry left behind by girls who really didn't like the way I cooked eggs. And way back then I thought it all started years before, maybe in the mountains or on the caprock or somewhere between the Texas line and Lubbock when the car stopped registering miles per hour and began to talk about eras and auras and (holy shit that girl ain't wearing no bra--I like hippies).

So you see, it's not all bottled up like Wal-Mart house brand shampoo and conditioner in one (so you don't have to bend over twice). There are no clear answers, and yet the chasm gets deeper. Gets farther away from where I was before. There are no more lines, just hazy clouds of smoke and the occasional panhandler with a sign that says "Will suck dick if you treat me like a human." We always pass that guy. We always pretend like we're singing along to Duran Duran. We always look the other way because the guy who will suck dick for dignity is just not the kind of thing you want to see on a really nice, bright Saturday afternoon after driving through the Big-I reconstruction (like abstract engineer art with the occasional interruption of spontaneous clicks and bangs).

The little girl from Russia or one of those renegade republics didn't win on her Olympic appeal for drinking cold medicine containing psuedoephidrine (which is a prime component of CAT, which is a really jacked up form of methamphetamine, which basically keeps people up for an entire week as they watch re-runs of I Love Lucy, dream about robbing banks or casinos and then have long protracted tries at sex with the creases in the couch), and I think this is an injustice. But truthfully, I think a lot of things are injustices and if the world took my point of view all of us would get one day of anarchy in our lives when we could do whatever we wanted and get away with it.

What would you do?

I'm not telling you, I haven't really had the chance to really know the really real you. And if you think I'm giving up that kind of information to the likes of you, well then you better just think about what it might do to our kids if we only drove around in Porches and told them they could only eat macaroni and cheese on the third Sunday of every month. I mean, what a mind fuck! Those kids would be on some kind of crazy monthly cycle they will carry with them into their early adulthood, possibly even sickening them so much that they might up the habit of once a month to two or three times that and what would happen then? Absolute anarchy all the time!

It's frightening to think about, really.

Luckily, I've got the really good hiking boots. All leather with neat-o sponge supports and smelly smelly auto-deodorant that makes the air around me in a five foot radius smell just like Sport. You know how Sport smells, don't you? It's just like that. Or maybe Fresh. Fresh is pretty cool, too. I might interchange them, like, from hike to hike.

That's why I'm running for President. This is what the country needs right now. Four flushing toilets in every house, one super DTS DVD player and a bucket of fresh lye--I'm promising you the entire rose garden, people.

Vote for me!

Every government worker, every teacher, every cop, every member of a union, every kid, every grandparent, every old person who pays 75% of his yearly earnings for drugs that keep his heart beating, his blood pumping, his spine tingling, all of these people--no taxes!

No taxes for the rich!

No taxes for the poor!

No taxes for the students!

No taxes for anybody!*

Matt Worley does not endorse himself for the office of President. That guy is way wacky.

*Please see brochure for definition of "anybody." What I really mean is that we'll all basically pay the same amount in taxes as we usually do, except the rich people because those people are my good friends and paid for me to get into office and so they don't have to pay taxes anymore. And people with handicaps, those people--well the ones who can't have sex anymore--they don't have to pay taxes--unless they're middle class and have two dogs, then they have to pay taxes on one of the dogs. But other than that, yeah, it won't really change at all. Vote for me...please! It will change your life, you'll have a new president to make jokes about. It'll be fun. You'll be standing around the proverbial water cooler...