First off, everyone knows me. Talk about name recognition! In addition to the sixty-odd years I spent in the public eye as a strong advocate for white men, young white men, and, closer to my death, some white women, I’ve become even more popular in death. I’ve never left the public consciousness! My funeral was even broadcast on all the major networks! Presidential hopefuls would die for that kind of coverage (I did).


There won’t be any debates over where I was born, or whether I’m defining my race appropriately, or the imagined weaknesses of my gender, so I’ll be free to focus on the message I want to send. No one is going to ask if it’s the “right time” for my campaign or what my campaign means for other old white men corpses. We already know that it’s the prerogative of all white men to run for president, even if they’re dead!


Am I likable? Uh, yeah, not only am I an old white man, but I’m dead. Everyone becomes more popular after their death. Anyway, this question won’t apply to me.


The media will be so busy eviscerating Kamala Harris, Elizabeth Warren, and Kristen Gillibrand for every decision they’ve ever made that I’ll be able to just skate right on by! Old white men are just assumed to be inherently racist and sexist — that’s their right! I’m an old fucking white man corpse so we can all just assume that I’ve made a few mistakes and move on.


Would you really trust these young gun seventy-year-olds with the fate of our country? Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable leaving these decisions in the withered hands of a rotting old white man corpse? I know I would.


Let’s face it, I might be dead but I’m still an old white man so I’ve got the best shot at winning this thing.