What This Country Needs is a Polygamist President

Martel Chapman's The Polygamist President

I’ve observed the dysfunction in Washington, D.C., marveling at how a country with so much talent, wealth, and ambition can collectively fail to get a dang thing done. To help the U.S. get headed in the right direction, my latest epiphany targets an unlikely catalyst:  The First Lady, or in this case, Ladies.

It’s customary for a First Lady to take on a special cause and champion it throughout the term.  Nancy Reagan crusaded against drugs.  Laura Bush fought for literacy.  Michelle Obama battled obesity.  Hillary Clinton’s passion was healthcare, whereupon failing at that, she opted to instead run the country.

Throughout history, our First Ladies have been able to devote themselves to these causes.  The only problem?  There are simply too many issues to tackle. A First Lady can only choose one.

As I was pondering this question the other day, another human events-altering epiphany materialized before my eyes.  What if a President could practice polygamy and marry a gaggle of First Ladies?

Instead of narrowing their focus to one issue, their sheer numbers would allow them to take on a multitude of social problems. Suddenly Washington DC would no longer be so intransigent.

But who to spearhead such a movement?

The Ideal Candidate for Lots of Ladies

Mitt Romney seemed like a natural choice.  Mormons tend to groove on polygamy, and he’s a good looking guy with some cash to throw around.  But I ruled him out, figuring he was too interested in playing it safe.

What about Barack Obama?  Strike two.  Would you want to cross Michelle?

No, I decided it would take someone else.  Someone outside the two-ring circus that is the current political scene.  Someone who is passionate about this idea, and also passionate about having twenty or so wives.  Someone like …well, me.

Thus, with only a few weeks left before the Presidential election, I threw my hat into the ring.

Now, it’s not an easy task to launch a grassroots campaign with no funding, no name recognition, and no nothing (except double negatives).  But I had a breakthrough epiphany in my back-pocket, and a killer slogan:  “Married to Twenty Wives:  Now I’m the Minority!”

The first thing I needed to do was to back up the slogan, so I set out to court my gaggle of lassies.  Surprisingly, many women were eager to climb on board.

They had a variety of motives.  Jackie believed this would be a springboard for her acting career.  Donna thought the White House would be a great place to get a tan.  Julie had always wanted to travel.  Stephanie wanted babies, and had heard good things about White House daycare.   Hannah had a vast political agenda that included an urge to repeal, uphold, and various other legislative-type acts.  (I guess it takes all kinds.)

Whatever their motives, my wives became fiercely loyal to me, as a twenty-one year old bimbo would to a ninety-five year old billionaire.  We were married in a massive ceremony at City Hall (we had to use their conference room) and I have to admit to shedding a tear.  A few of my wives did too; especially the brunette, whose name escapes me at the moment.

I know what you’re wondering.  What about my wife, Yvonne, the one to whom I was married before all this started?  Despite my explanations of the benefits the country will receive from the twenty First Ladies, she really hadn’t spoken to me since I conjured up this epiphany.  She was still sulking after the ceremony, but I reminded her that this epiphany is for the good of the country. Like a true patriot, she decided to take one for the good old USA, although she did draw the line when I hinted at a possible honeymoon orgy.  (Hey, I’m sorry, it was worth a try.)

Men in Awe of an Awesome Man

At this point, the skeptics out there are shaking their heads, wondering how in blue blazes I got married to twenty women, considering it’s basically against the law.  But you have to remember, we live in a democracy, and sometimes, the will of the people is done. In this case, it’s the will of men.

You see, I knew that many men would envy the fact that I was married to twenty women, as long as they were assured that it involved non-stop intercourse, sans Viagra.  Naturally, I had been spreading a rumor to that effect, which is why the justice of peace married us and then clapped me on the shoulder, saying, “Go to it!”

It’s also why fellow menkind quickly pledged allegiance to my cause. When the election rolled around, I managed to capture the entire male vote, becoming the first write-in President in history.

Like most Presidents, I strategically had not revealed my agenda prior to taking office.  Now that I was elected, I held my first meeting with my first ladies, and revealed the respective tasks I thought we needed to accomplish.

The list was long and ambitious:  “Make better tasting envelope adhesive,” “Down with fanny packs,” and my own personal favorite, “Ban ironing.”  I declared that once we’d solved these issues, we’d move on the boring stuff, like unemployment and tax reform.

Me and the missuses decided we’d get to work after the weekend.  Unfortunately, we never quite made it to Monday.

Getting Served 20 Times Over

In a span of two days, the twenty wives began to quarrel.  First, despite the voluminous size of the White House, there just wasn’t enough closet room for all their damn shoes.  Second, a controversy ensued over what wife #7, Debbie, was wearing at the cabinet meeting (apparently the skirt was too short.)  Third, a huge row broke out when all the copies of “50 Shades of Grey” that my wives had brought to the White House were left on the coffee table.  Several people had mistakenly grabbed the wrong copy, and everyone basically had lost their page (as if it really mattered.)

When Monday rolled around, we were in such turmoil that something unprecedented occurred:  Democrats and Republicans agreed on something.  They declared that the new president and his squadron of first ladies were a mess, and voted to impeach me.  In short order, I was booted from office, because, as one Senator so eloquently put it, “He’s a dick.”

Ushered unceremoniously out of Washington, I slunk home, ashamed, only to find a dispatch from a legal office waiting at my front door.  I’d been served 20 sets of divorce papers. With 20 women coming after all my assets, I knew I was ruined.

I trudged into the house, and slumped down on my couch.  I reached over and clicked on the TV, which did spur a comforting thought.  They may strip me of all my cash, but at least I was alone in the house.

Without a wife in sight, that meant I was free to channel-surf to my heart’s content.  I clicked on the TV, and clicked, and clicked some more.

Illustration by Martel Chapman

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Comments

  1. Vicky Jones says:

    It takes a village.

  2. Should have bought a second TV.

  3. It would make a helluva reality show!

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