I Would Like to be House Speaker Because I Want a Better Chair
I mean, because I want to help the American people
I’ve held the ambition of becoming House Speaker since my fourth term in Congress, when my posture really started to deteriorate, and my back pain became unbearable. My doctor suggested buying a work chair with lumbar support, but I’d rather spend that money on my growing collection of Margaret Thatcher fan fiction. After leaving the doctor, I trolled around the Capitol, looking for a Democrat to recommend an abortionist for my mistress.
I was about to cut my search short (it occurred to me that I could simply relocate her to Siberia) when I caught a glimpse of the Speaker’s office. I immediately homed in on its most enticing item: a plush, patent leather chair with an ergonomic shape that hugs the spine. The solution to all my problems, well, just the back problem, I guess, became clear. I need to be the next House Speaker.
It should be said, I also want the Speaker role to help the American people. I’d like to see taxes go down. If Uncle Sam’s cut wasn’t so big, my life would improve by leaps and bounds. For one, I could afford pens that don’t explode in my pocket like tiny IED’s. The Speaker gets good pens. Nice and heavy, very little smudging, with a fine point that makes a pleasant scratching sound.
I couldn’t understand how he affords such finery, so I paid off his clerk with a Congressional cafeteria voucher and learned that the pens are a perk of the gig! In addition to the cushy chair! He might as well be Saddam, awash in gold toilets and yachts.
What would I enact besides lower taxes? I’d make it illegal for airlines to shrink the space between seats. The American people are sick and tired of getting the short end of the stick because of corporate greed; a plight I understand all too well. There’s barely enough room for my in-flight karate as it is. I practice for ten or fifteen minutes, then promote circulation by resting my toes on the seat-back in front of me.
I know for a fact that other passengers don’t mind. Or if they do, I can’t hear their complaints over the “Top Gun” soundtrack blaring through my noise cancelling headphones.
I like to do karate when I’m back in Washington as well, but my seat in the chamber has nothing for me to rest my feet on, post-karate. I keep them flat on the floor and resign myself to clotting like Baskin and Robbins’ ice cream filled heart valves.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the chamber, the Speaker has a whole podium to lurk behind and rest his feet on! This guy’s got incredible seating options at every turn!
I bet he has a space heater up there— the House is notoriously frigid. That prick must have the thermostat controls, too. He probably sets it at sixty-eight and laughs while our ice shard nipples pierce our suit jackets. When I’m Speaker, I’m going to keep it at a Florida seventy-three (too hot and humid for books to survive). Unless that shapely Kim Kadarshin visits, then I’ll put it at sixty-six.
Have mercy. What I wouldn’t give to sit upon that elevated pulpit. High above everyone like a beautiful eagle, where no one could see my growing bald spot. I’d come down and legislate with the others once my follicular implants — generously paid for by the Eric Trump Thin Hair, DO Care fund — took.
Oh! And I’d certainly look forward to getting a bigger staff. As a Congressman, I only have eighteen staffers. The Speaker is allowed to have a whole cabal of interns and aides. And you know what that means: more workplace gossip. I’m sick and tired of hearing the same tidbits on an endless loop. (We get it Rachel, Saquon asked for your number at the Easter Egg Roll).
How would any of that help the American people? Ha. Have you ever heard of trickle-down theory, buddy? If those of us at the top have less back pain and ink-free pockets, do you really think the country wouldn’t reap the benefits? I’m tired of people like you, always poking holes in the noble intentions of politicians. One more thing: when I’m Speaker, I’m going to write laws saying none of my ex-wives can vote.
