The Composite Candidate

Election 1988 is nearly upon us, with its challenge to choose a President of bold vision, courage and leadership, a challenge that will be rendered even more difficult than usual by an appalling field of candidates.

The two major parties find themselves in differing circumstances. While the Democrats have fielded one scandal-ruined unelectable spoiler and multitudes of tiny, irritating mouselike ciphers whom no one cares about, the Republicans have two well-known, distinguished leaders of great stature and accomplishment whom no one can stand.

What does all this portend? An election so dreary that not even three fully puffed-up network anchors can make it interesting. A country governed by a President elected by maybe 16 voters.

Is it ever time for a change.

Which is why, in the name of public service, we have come up with the Emergency Composite Candidate Replacement Plan.

And quite a nifty little proposal it is, the kind of idea doable only in a hip, forward-looking, solution-oriented nation like ours. Enlisting the aid of modern medicine and science fiction (if, in fact, there is a difference between the two), we selected the best bits of the present mediocrities (whether running, formerly running or coyly nonrunning) and constructed two glory-bound supercandidates.

So cast off those preconvention worries and look to the following pages, where the brightest and the best meet the genetically impossible.

From the desk of the gipper

Dear George or Bob ... gosh, I sure hope it's one of you guys. Well, whoever:

I guess you're wondering why I'm not here to shake your hand and help you drive down Pennsylvania Avenue waving to the cheering crowd.

I know it's supposed to be a big tradition and all, but, doggone it, I'd just had it up to here with Washington, so I said to Nancy, "Say, what's the harm if we bug out for the ranch a little bit early?"

So we left eight months ago.

And you know the funny part? Nobody noticed! What most folks don't realize is that the country pretty much runs itself. Heck, I didn't realize it myself when I first came in. Ed Meese said to me, "Ron, you just keep your eye on the big picture; let me and Mike Deaver and Ollie North worry about the details." Well, I have, and you know how well it worked out.

Of course, there's no way I would duck out on my responsibility to brief my successor. The world's just too complex and dangerous for that. So I got on the horn and dictated this note to Howard Baker, and he promised to leave it on your desk, right next to that big red button, where you can't miss it. (And, for heaven's sake, be sure not to touch that thing. The Pentagon will send someone around to explain it before long.)

So here's the low-down:

Now, I've heard all the nonsense about what a jam the next President's going (concluded on page 147) Composite candidate (continued from page 81) to be in. I've heard the blubbering about the budget deficit and the economic mess and the trouble in the Middle East. I've heard about all the "impossible" questions facing the new President. Where do we get the billions to build Star Wars? How do you keep from staring at Gorbachev's birthmark? When you meet Mrs. Thatcher, do you have to give her a kiss? Could it give you AIDS? Why, I've even heard some gloom-and-doomers say that after my term, our entire economic system will collapse and throw us into a monster depression that could spell the end of Western civilization.

And I know you're wondering, What on earth should I do about all that?

Well, buddy, that's your problem, not mine! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

OK, just kidding. Seriously, though, of all the problems ahead, the worst by far—no question—is the press. Lick that one and you've got it knocked. Those goof balls will just drive you batty if you let 'em. So don't let 'em! Whenever you see that media herd stampeding at you, do what I did. Just cup your ear and squint so it looks like you can't hear their questions. Then give 'em a big smile and a wave and walk away!

It always worked for me. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if history recorded my media policy as one of my biggest achievements, right alongside Star Wars, joking after surgery and, of course, proving that you, too, can cut taxes and boost the budget at the same time, which the liberals claimed would ruin the economy. That's a laugh.

Which reminds me: Have you heard the one about the mouse who has a date with a beautiful giraffe? Well, he comes home a wreck, and when his pal asks him if he scored, he says, "Oh, sure, no problem. But between kissing her and screwing her, I must have run 500 miles."

Because, you know, that's exactly what it's like running America. I mean it. You keep that in mind and you'll never go wrong.

But if you do, why, come on out to the ranch and I'll let you touch me for luck. As you know, that was the real secret of my success, and maybe it'll rub off. Nancy and I are always here (except when I'm in Vegas headlining at Caesars) and it's such a tonic. I always say that nothing helps the inside of a man like the outside of a horse. Unless, as Gary Hart says, maybe the inside of a.... Oops, Nancy just walked in, so I'm signing off now. Break a leg, Mr. President!

Your pal, Ron

Dictated but not comprehended RR:hb

Democratic Candidate

Gary Hart's J.F.K.-inspired Hair.

Paul Newman's Eyes.

Paul Simon's Character-Building Accessories—Sincerity package provides instant integrity and dispels slick, manufactured image.

Jimmy Carter's Common Touch—An inexpensive but endearing prop.

The Kennedy Charisma—Fading but still potent.

Mario Cuomo's Mona Lisa Smile—For that oh-so-intriguing ambivalence.

The Dukakis Proboscis—With the ethnic vote, you could win by a nose.

Jesse Jackson's Rappin' Rhythm—Helps win over minority audiences.

Bill Bradley's Sneakers—Everyone loves an intellectual jock.

Albert Gore's Pot—Appeals to baby boomers. (Caution: Candidate must not have taken more than one puff, long ago, and must be terribly sorry.)

The Thoughts of Joe Biden—For those ringing oratorical flourishes that set a campaign apart.

Tip O'Neill's Pot—Reassures traditional blue-collar constituents.

Gary's Heart—Voters want a Prez with lust in his heart, or wherever.

Dick Gephardt's Legs—Flexible, to support instant shifts of position.

Republican Candidate

Pat Robertson's Direct Line to God—No evangelist can resist.

Jerry Ford's Trusty Pardoning Pen—A G.O.P. necessity due to surfeit of Reagan Administration figures facing convictions.

Robert Bork's Beard—Signals solidarity with far-right lunatic fringe.

Ollie North's Medals—Suck in the superpatriots every time.

Richard Nixon's Never-Say-Die Heart—Allows candidate to recover from fatal blows.

George Bush's Record—For the multitudes who are more impressed by quantity than by quality.

Arnold Schwarzenegger's Physique—Subtly dispels negative image left over from party's Bush/wimp identification.

Jeane Kirkpatrick's Chutzpah—Toughest man in the house.

Jack Kemp's J.F.K.-inspired Hair.

Frank Sinatra's Eyes.

Pierre du Pont IV's Croquet Mallet—Blue-blood tool for smacking down upstart masses.

Bush Ball Bearings—Quick-escape system from press questions on Iran arms deal.

Charlton Heston's Face—Is this guy Presidential or what?

The Kissinger Drone—Evokes G.O.P.'s golden era in foreign policy and war crimes.

"Ve must achieve hegemony but vid rapprochement, uddervise our deterrence vill be compromised by de strategic, etc., and de nuclear vhatcha-macallit vid de geopolitical blah, blah, blah...."

Al Haig's Backbone—Affirmative strategy factor for electioneering mode.

Clint Eastwood's Magnum—Guarantees vital redneck-geek vote.

Presidential Polyps—Growths gain sympathy and distract from flaws.

Famous Reagan Shield—Wards off accusations of incompetence.

We've come into possession of a memo designed to get the new Administration off to a flying start. Peek if you must, but this is classified, so, please keep it quiet, OK?