Jon de Vos: The new presidential flyover |

Jon de Vos: The new presidential flyover

Jon de Vos / The Friday Report
Fraser, CO Colorado

As the Republicans stumble their way around the most painful elephant race in memory, more than half of them are still praying for a dark pachyderm to come in from the outside.

They keep finding fault after fault with their own hopeful after hopeful. The right embraces Romney like vegans picking off a truck-stop menu.

Today we uncage the candidate with the best chance to swoop and poop on the Democrats’ parade. That dark elephant is no horse, of course, but rather my African grey parrot, Buddy.

Buddy intends to become only the second African-American ever to attain the highest office in the land. He took a gander at the part of the U.S. Constitution that says the president must be a 35-year old, natural-born citizen. He wiped a tear away with his wingtip and said, “I was born a poor black child in Lakewood, Colorado, in 1975 and I will soon release the original sales receipt to prove it. Compare that,” he said, “to my amphibian opponent who can barely claim terrestrial origins.”

He’s no birdbrain, speaking eloquently without a teleprompter. He’s a born insider and, at just under 6 ounces, he’ll fit into anyone’s pocket. He’s single, never been henpecked; just so he keeps his beak clean, who cares if he keeps a couple of thrashers or a few little chickadees on the side?

He would never grouse or speak ill of the loons and dodos in Congress, always preferring to flock together. He’s witty, gregarious, and remains perched upright through the most boring meetings. He’s dashing in his formal grey tux with the elegant red tails. All that, coupled with a magnificent head of grey feathers, assures that voters will flock to him.

He crows about his chances. Should he land in the catbird’s seat, he’d never quail from telling hawks and doves to go fly a kite. He’ll work for chickenfeed, never feathering his own nest or putting our eggs in one basket. He’s smart as an owl, planning to goose the economy and bird-dog the budget while taking command of the crow’s nest.

“This is no lark,” he chirped, “I can whip the tail feathers off any lame duck.”

It may seem a little gooney and stick in some people’s craw, but he plans to move the Oval Office to an upper branch of a tree just outside the Audubon exhibit at the Smithsonian.

He’d love to pick some sweet young hen as his running mate but he saw what happened to John McCain and decided his best bet might be representative Ben Quayle of Arizona or, with a nod to diversity, Raul Labrador of Idaho. He sees Michelle or Sarah as albatrosses around the neck of the party.

The new national anthem would be the Lynyrd Skynyrd live version of “Free Bird” with the extended guitar riff in the middle. Some vultures will cry fowl, but even if those guttersnipes could be quieted, there remains the problem of the line in the inauguration ceremony that says, “Please raise your right hand.” If that could be changed to, “Please raise your right wing,” then Buddy’s a shoe-in.

Buddy will have no problem scratching out his own agenda, vowing to quickly establish the pecking order. In a nod to the religious right, he’s promised to open the first session of Congress with a prayer:

“Let Osprey …”

Recently a critical reader pointed out that over the years, I have been offensively liberal with the word “poop.” In deference to this lady’s genteel taste and refinement, henceforth I promise to reverse the letters of the “poop” word front-to-back so no one will be the wiser.

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