Standing before you, the American people, at this auspicious moment in history, is a great personal honor. As an ex-marine, former Secretary of Defense, and the first woman to walk on Mars, I have passed many milestones in my life, but none have prepared me for this moment, as I introduce the Democratic Party’s 2024 nominee for president. After a bruising primary season, it is time for us to unite, to fuse our energies, and work together behind the delegate leader who has the best chance of taking back the White House this November. The Democrats have spoken, and they want dick.
Remember a few months ago, when the pundits all wondered, how could a dismembered white dick in a jar of formaldehyde possibly make it past Super Tuesday? But if there’s one thing we have learned, it’s never to discount the political power of a penis, even one that has been encased in chemical preservatives for 200 years. This founding father’s former member has what it takes. He’s the schlong that belongs in the oval office, because it turns out that swinging a big dick was never just a metaphor for political strength — it was literally all that most voters cared about in their leaders.
This dick will make history. Within a Democratic primary field otherwise comprised of women, people of color, and representatives of the LGBTQ+ community, our nominee stood (or rather, floated) apart. Over the last four years that I have spent in relentless campaigning, posing for four million selfies, and drafting 97,000 detailed policy proposals to fix this great nation, you have spoken loud and clear about the kind of president you want to lead this great country of ours.
Because what can that dick do? It can certainly pee — at least twice an hour, typically! It also possesses rare powers of rational thought, which ovaries really can’t seem to manage, and has the creative force of a generative uterus — except, of course, that it’s a very masculine if perpetually flaccid dick.
At this historic moment, I’m reminded of the time I parachuted behind enemy lines in Fallujah to rescue members of my platoon who had been injured in an ambush. Their Humvee lay in ruins, and they were bleeding and crying out in pain. As I strapped one 250-pound guy to my back and hoisted the other around my shoulders and ran half a mile until we could airlift them to safety, my one regret was that if only I had a dick, I might have been able to run faster or even just swing it around at the enemy. It’s what soldiers do, amirite?
Like so many of you, I’ve lost count of the number of times that I was using my MacArthur Genius award to create a broad-based community coalition to address systemic discrimination, or breastfeeding while driving my car to NASA for space flight training, or arguing for better funding for a rural health clinic while enduring the excruciating pain of a malignant fibroid, when someone in the room turned to me and said, I’m sorry, but are you sure that, as a woman, you’re ready for this? It’s hilarious, right ladies? And not at all the kind of thing that leads to violent dissociative antisocial terror screaming.
Sorry – where was I?
Make no mistake, this nineteenth-century prick is the leader who will take back the White House. All those campaign slogans are true — he’s the cock of the walk, the member to remember, the ultimate democracy dong. Ladies and gentlemen, the next president of the United States!