PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

Mr. Essential

I have always considered myself essential in the sense that I’m game to stay open when people like you are shutting it down. In a sense, I’m essential because I believe I’m essential. And once a person believes he’s essential, that person has no choice but to stay open.

Meanwhile, you’re closed. The American public comes to you with their problems but finds an outstretched palm in their collective face. Not only is that not helpful when maybe the American public needs drapes during a major pandemic, but it’s also not particularly sanitary! Put your (maybe; who knows?) coronavirus-infused hand six feet back, pal.

My main concern: several businesses and rock people I frequent and/or watch onstage are guaranteed not to survive the Democrat(ic) Pandemic Plot. For example, what becomes of The Harvard Bookstore? How about The Modern Homebrew Emporium? Matt Murphy’s Pub? Busted Knuckle? Adi’s Bike World? Jack at Phil’s Barber Shop? George and his people at La Flamme? Eco Builders? Brookline Booksmith? China Fair? Rockler? Abodeon? Leavitt and Pearce? Grant Lee? Mike Doughty? Peter Parcek? Audio Lab? As you can imagine, I could easily go on.

I predict a wholesale slaughter. (But don’t quote me).

At least we know we’ll get a new president sometime in the next five years.

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And On My First Day In Office...

It’s true that I’m polling in the low single digits nationally (or maybe, like, below 1%) for the Democratic nomination, but still, I feel good about my candidacy relative to the effort I’ve put in. Like, I have put no effort into running. I mean none.

And yet I’ll get more votes than you will.

That’s just the way it is: things come easy for me, and being president would be easy as well. If I were in the White House, I would affect change on day one by doing a couple of simple things, like adding some color. I mean, come on, pure white? What if we at least did the trim in a beige?

Second, I’d renovate the Oval Office to add a few hard angles. Maybe make it the Rhombus Office, or the Trapezoid Office. Whatever shape is most likely to freak out foreign heads of state is what I’m for. Keep them on their toes.

Finally, I'd bring Democrats and Republicans together by installing a little bar with a keezer so I could serve my presidential homebrew right from the tap. If there's one thing that can bring the parties together, it's beer. Homebrew is missing from the White House and to my mind that's a real shame.

I can already sense my write-in poll numbers going up.

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Medal School

Several people have asked me if I expect to win the Presidential Medal of Freedom before I die. And why wouldn’t they ask that? I’m loved by millions, and I’ve done enormous amounts for the American people.

Have my actions on behalf of the citizens of our country flown under the radar, with almost no one knowing about or being able to document my contributions? Probably. Some people claim I’ve contributed nothing at all. Like that makes me unqualified! It turns out you don’t have to have served your country at all.

On the other hand, I don’t have lung cancer.

However, please alert the president that I have had many struggles with anosmia. This deserves something, doesn’t it? I know that Rudy Giuliani contends that you can’t get the Presidential Medal of Freedom with anything less than a stage 4 cancer diagnosis, but what about the Vice Presidential Medal of Good Humor? Or the Speaker of the House Medal of Coolness Under Pressure?

A couple of guys I met on the street told me that there’s a chart that is used to dole out medals, and the only way to get to the presidential medal of freedom is either to serve your country with distinction, or else get a stage 4 diagnosis. Great! This means I can’t get it if I catch my forthcoming cancer early, like stage 1. Makes me want to let that damned cancer thrive!

What’s your plan to win the PMoF?

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Just Peachy

When I was a young kid way back in the mid-1800s, the term “impeach” surfaced many thoughts in my young mind, not the least of which was of peaches. I somehow then connected those peaches to bald heads, because peaches have fuzz, and if you were impeached the authorities were going to shave your head as a punishment.

And maybe tar and feather you.

This reminds me that my old friend Bond told me a story of when he was taking a boat from Spain to Morocco in (let’s call it) 1984, and some hippie-sort on the boat started smoking a joint and mouthing off, which caused a boat-official to haul his ass underdeck. When the hippie emerged, his head had been shaved. Which is sort of what I had thought happened when you got impeached. Also, this now shaved-hippie was still smoking weed. And the joint was stubbed out into someone’s eye.

Who knows how many stories I’m conflating into one? Maybe God does. My guess is between 3 and 5; the stories of my young and sordid past, with joints, hippies, and a shaved head here and there tend to ooze into one another at this point in my (extremely high-functioning and mainstream 50-something) life.

Still, those were the days! Smoking a joint was rewarded with free haircare back then. Try that now. Now, you’re lucky if anyone cares if you smoke a joint. The police hold the door open for you when you emerge from the weed store and advise you to mind the steps. (Or so I’m told.)

Just don’t sip a snifter of whiskey in view of a 17 year old because you’ll get a full body cavity inspection.

Anyway, everyone wants to know which side I’m hoping will win, and I know it’s cliché but I have to say I’m just hoping for a fun impeachment.

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J'Biden Era Haikuage

 

People's Arms. That's right!

200 million shots

In 100 days

 

We are good people

But we still have far to go

Repair. Restore. Heal.

 

There's nothing new here

The Affordable Care Act

We're restoring it 

 

America's Day

Democracy is fragile

The world is watching 

 

Strategy is based

On Science, not politics

Truth, not denial

 

 

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