It is necessary and proper for every candidate for the highest office in the land we genuine U.S. patriots call America the Beautiful to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about his or her whereabouts during the Vietnam War.
I am proudly humbled to announce that I spent the entire war in an urn.
This urn was placed on the mantle of a fireplace. I am certain my wife would vouch for me, if she were alive and still daily soaking me in a small teaspoon of my favorite food, a blend of anise oil and rotgut. It was her recipe. She had it copyrighted and patented. My lawyer is trying to locate it as I write.
My wife also kept me abreast of the conflict, reading me the latest from Stars and Stripes. I was proud of what our heroic boys were doing, and I remain proud of their courage under fire to this very day. I have only two regrets: that we lost the war and that I could not join our brave, noble troops in this losing cause.
Both of my opponents in this campaign have raised doubts about my patriotism. I resent this. I also feel called upon to set the record straight.
When America entered World War I, I was 32 years old, married, and the father of two children, a pair of girls who still live and phone me every other week, telling me the same damn things over and over. Despite my age and family status, I went to the U.S. Army Recruitment Office and tried to enlist. My wife disapproved of this patriotic act—not because she was anti-American but because she had just become pregnant with our second daughter—and followed me down to the aforementioned office, armed with a loaded rifle. It was this act of courage on her part that prevented me from serving my country during that horrendous war.
When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on the day that will live in infamy, I was 57 and fit as a fiddle. Again I attempted to enlist, this time in the Marines. Again my family disapproved of this attempt on the grounds that I had two living grandchildren and two in the oven, as we used to say. Again I was followed down to the Recruitment Office, this time by my eldest daughter, who was also an accurate shot. It was this act of courage on her part that prevented me from serving my country during that equally horrendous war.
As for the Korean War, it was really only a police action. Though some of my best friends are cops, I have run across several sheriffs who have treated me rudely, and I did not care to be associated with that crowd.
This, I trust, will set the record straight. I swear to Almighty God that I have never sought or received a student deferment, enlisted in the National Guard, or faked an injury to avoid combat. In this respect I share a common bond with Honest Abe.