Good afternoon, my fellow Americans. Our nation is in a time of crisis. Unemployment is high. Home values are low. And the folks in Washington would have you believe that they can solve all your problems. But we know better. We know that Washington, DC doesn’t have the solutions.

Now, I’m not from Washington, DC. No one can say I’m part of the Washington establishment. You won’t find me at a Washington, DC cocktail party, laughing and wife-swapping on the taxpayer’s dime while the economy crumbles. No, sir. I’ve never even been to Washington, DC. Actually, I’d go so far as to say that I literally could not even find Washington, DC on a map, and not because I don’t know how to use a map.

My friends, I’ve never even heard of Washington, DC. I do not even believe in the concept of Washington, DC. And as I stand here before you today, I can promise you that Washington, DC is not even a term I understand as a proper noun. Frankly, it sounds made up.

In truth, I am a complete stranger to Washington, DC. If I were to drive up in a windowless van and offer candy to Washington, DC, Washington, DC would be wise to reject my offer. Even if I told Washington, DC that its mom was running late and sent me to pick it up after school—and even if I somehow correctly guessed the family password—Washington, DC should still not get in my van. That is how much of a stranger I am to Washington, DC. If Washington, DC actually did make the grievous error of getting into my van, I would disregard the ensuing Amber Alert, because I would not even understand that Washington, DC could be missing. This hypothetical has now turned in on itself.

Just as Washington, DC should not trust me, I, in turn, do not trust Washington, DC. I would not allow Washington, DC to housesit, for example. If I did, I would not expect Washington, DC to water my plants, even if Washington, DC made multiple promises to do so.

Washington, DC? More like “Some place I’m not part of the elite of, DC.”

I do not understand this world as being capable of containing anything called Washington, DC. I believe Washington, DC to be one giant hologram. Washington, DC, like my gay son, is dead to me.

In closing, I’d like to share with you a conversation I had with my six-year-old granddaughter just the other day that I think pretty much sums it up. She asked me: “Grandpa, why aren’t the empty suits in Washington, DC doing anything to help regular folks like us?” And do you know what I told her? I said: “Sweetheart, what the fuck is a ‘Washington, DC’?”

I’m asking for your vote on November 2. Re-elect me, and I promise to keep on doing what I’ve been doing for the last twelve years: working hard to represent you, the people, in Congress, wherever that is.