Well, how about that? God works in mysterious blah blah ad nauseum. Due to a loophole the size of Texas, the democratic process has collapsed under the intense pressure from male punters ~ and now, only female strippers are eligible to run for office! Which puts me front and centre! As candidate for…um…well, I don’t know. Something. I don’t really care, actually, as long as it includes the cessation of dirty bills being shoved into my g~string. Though, now that I think about it, I’m running for office, for Christ’s sake; let’s be realistic. That shit won’t be ending any time soon; the bills will just be getting a whole lot more valuable. Oh, and I prolly won’t have to show my tits as often. I’m not a stickler, though. I’m patriotic as fuck; I’ll show these tits, for Canada, baby. For CANADA. Or gas money. Holy FUCK. I’d better fix that, first thing in office. Someone remind me. Hey! That reminds me. Do I get an assistant? What? Not, not you. A male one. And hot. I said not you! Beat it, sweetheart; I don’t care how organized you are. If you don’t have a penis, you’re not organized enough. Get lost. God, it’s hard being President of Canada (is that it’s called…?), with all these minions to shit on. Someone get me a fucking latté. You, sweetheart! Before you go…