How about a FREE chapter from my upcoming book, DUMB and the Impossible Journey to Achieve IT! Because if it’s free, it’s for me! Yay!
DISCLAIMER: My book is not a political book. It has nothing to do with politics. Matter of fact my book is a collection of random essays that I put together in a chronological order that somehow makes a whole lotta sense.
And Now, My Feature Presentation
CHAPTER X: THE IDEA THAT A MAN WHOSE STARDOM ROSE FROM A DUMB BOOK BECAME THE 48TH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES
“Ladies and gentlemen, the 48th President of the United States. A man whose claim to fame wasn’t an Ivy League education or a life in politics, but a book called Dumb and the Impossible Journey to Achieve It. If that doesn’t scream ‘only in America,’ I don’t know what does.”
Everybody has dreams. Some people want to be astronauts. Some want to be rock stars. Some just want a quiet life on a farm, away from the noise. And then there’s me. This? This really wasn’t my dream. I remember when I was young, people would pat me on the head and say, “You could be President someday!” It was always in that tone, the half-compliment, half-joke that adults say to clueless kids when they have no idea what else to say. Sure, I smiled, nodded, played along—no I didn’t, my response was more of an attentive glance with a, “Huh?” kind of look. Never, not once, did I think it would actually happen. Yet, just like this book, it chose me. One moment, I was the guy who wrote a dumb book. Next, I was standing in front of a crowd of thousands, realizing I was in way too deep to climb out.
The strangest part? People weren’t just listening. They were cheering. What started as a satirical take on the human condition turned into something bigger. People showed up wearing “DUMb and Proud” hats. Some kid came up to me at Holiday World & Splashin’ SAFARI® and said he liked my DUMb DUMb shirt, so I gave him the shirt off my back. Rallies felt less like political events and more like stand-up shows, complete with audience participation and confetti cannons that occasionally misfire. At one of the rallies, a dasher brought me a cheeseburger, fries and a milkshake. There were no policy debates, just open mic nights where everyday people shared their dumbest mistakes and what they learned from them. It was part therapy, part comedy, and somehow, it worked. At one rally, I stepped up to the podium and, without thinking, let this slip out:
“Listen, I once turned the stove on high, told myself ‘just three minutes,’ then got distracted watching a 45-second video… 37 videos later, I was wondering why my smoke alarm was yelling at me. So let’s talk about healthcare.”
The crowd went wild. The media scrambled to dissect it. And in living rooms across the country, people nodded in silent recognition, because who among us hasn’t done something equally dumb? That was the moment it clicked. People weren’t looking for a leader who had all the answers. They wanted someone who would stand up there and say what they were already thinking: “Nobody really knows what they’re doing. Least of all, me.” And just like that, the nation collectively exhaled.
Fast forward. The election was over. The world’s most accidentally beloved leader stood at the podium, preparing to deliver his first State of the Union Address. This was history in the making. The moment when a president sets the tone for their administration. A moment of dignity, power, and inspiration. Instead, I looked straight into the camera and said: “Fellow Americans, let me start by saying this: I have no idea what I’m doing, neither do most of you, so let’s figure it out together. Also, I accidentally sat on the nuclear codes this morning. They’re fine, but my pride is a little off kilter.”
Silence. Then laughter. Then a standing ovation. Political analysts were baffled. The people? They loved it. No pretense. No scripted speeches crafted by teams of advisors. Just brutal honesty. And somehow, that worked better than any carefully rehearsed policy announcement ever could.
International diplomacy followed the same theme. At one meeting with a foreign leader, I opened with: “Listen, I may not know the GDP of your country, but I can tell you that dropping Mentos into soda is always a bad idea.”
And just like that, diplomacy got a little more fun. It’s hard to maintain a poker face when your opponent is reenacting their dumbest childhood prank.
Critics were beside themselves. They called it a madhouse, a circus, a farce. “This is an embarrassment to the dignity of the presidency!” they cried. But the people? They loved it. Because for once, there was no pretense. No polished illusion of perfection. Just a human being leading a nation of human beings, flaws and all. Sure, there were some hiccups along the way. One time, I spent an entire press conference untangling White House Christmas lights, only to declare: “This is a metaphor for our infrastructure—let’s fix it.”
Bills were passed with titles like “The No More Mondays Act” and “Universal Nap Time Initiative.” Critics balked. Approval ratings soared. Then there was The DUMb Museum. A national monument repurposed to celebrate human dumbness throughout history. It featured exhibits like:
- “The History of Velcro: How We Stopped Tying Shoes”
- “The Top 10 Dumbest Inventions That Actually Work, like Snuggies, slap bracelets, and pet rocks”
- “Famous Last Words: A Cautionary Exhibit”
It became one of the most visited sites in the country. And let’s not forget the brief period when I replaced the national anthem with “Who Let the Dogs Out?” The decision was later reversed after overwhelming backlash, but for three glorious months, that was America’s official soundtrack. Somehow, that, too, became a metaphor for something.
This isn’t a movie. You can’t make this up. The sad truth about this four-year-long chapter—or eight, or twelve, or however long it ends up lasting—is that it actually happened. Later, of course, this was history in the making before the making even had a chance to history (v.) I woke up one morning and found myself leading a nation, not because I had spent my life preparing for it, but because I accidentally fell into it, just like this DUMb book. I wasn’t a career politician. I wasn’t a billionaire mogul with years of influence. I was just a guy who wrote a dumb book that people connected with so deeply, they decided to put me in charge.
Somewhere along the way, the world realized that maybe, just maybe, what we needed wasn’t someone pretending to have all the answers, but someone honest enough to admit they didn’t. Maybe dumbness was never the problem. Maybe it was the mask we all wore to hide how little we actually knew. Maybe it wasn’t a madhouse or a masterpiece, maybe it was both.
For a brief, shining moment, the world saw that dumb isn’t something to be feared or avoided, it’s something to be celebrated. Because in the end, aren’t we all just figuring it out, one dumb decision at a time?
Who doesn’t have dreams? I don’t think I really wanted this one to come true. I really enjoy my solitary life on my solitary farm flying my solitary aircraft in the solitary sky. Even in solitary, however, trouble still seems to find me. So, then, why not? The people, the ones who actually had the power, they made it happen, I couldn’t have done it on my own. They started the campaigns, put up the signs, and made the best damn DUMb president ever. Size mattered and one size finally fit all. No job was too big or too small.
I understand some of my thoughts, ideas and beliefs may or may not align with everyone else’s self-created, self-chosen political impositions, whatever. To each their own, you do you. I am not and never have been a political person. I’m more of a Jesus-type realist rebel, non-political, non-religious, non-believer. And, well, I guess that’s my politic. I love ya like a fat kid loves cake!
