Zapowiadał się upalny dzień. Kandydat na prezydenta grzmiał z niewielkiego podium, krytego pasiastym baldachimem. Całość przybrana była niebiesko czerwonymi wstążkami. Nad nim powiewał transparent głoszący Pierre Dole - President. Tuż nad jego głową wisiała na baldachimie czerwono-biała rozeta. Na jej tle wyglądał jak święty w aureoli, oczekujacy wniebowstąpienia.

Niosące się echo wtórowało apelom kandydata o głosy elekcyjne. Zdawał się być wszechobecny. Już na wstępie przemówienia, gdy kandydat poruszył temat "equal opportunity" tłum wzniósł się na wyżyny świadomości klasowej skandując

Pierre Dole, Pierre Dole!

Reakcja tłumu dolewała oleju do ognistej mowy kandydata. Ten, jakby rósł i pęczniał w miarę mówienia. Nozdrza rozdymały się mu jak u byka szykującego się do ataku.

Pierre Dole, Pierre Dole - wrzeszczał tłum szwaczek.

Punkt kulminacyjny nastąpił gdy zemdlała prasowaczka ze "sweat shop" szyjącego szelki z napisem Super Dad dla Bijon'a. Błyskawicznie przyjechała karetka. Wówczas tłum stracił zainteresowanie kandydatem i otoczył scenę przywracania szwaczki do zmysłów. Na rozkładanych stołach pokazały się napoje chłodzące. Rozlane do styropianowych kubków. Wielka szkoda że nie było puszkowanych.

My fellow Americans,

I come before you in these troubled times to talk about a way which together we can work to bring about new peace and prosperity for our time. So that the specter of global economy will no longer loom darkly on the horizon. A time during which we will no longer ransom the future in order to pay for the present. My fellow Americans, reason can overcome the force of greed. I suggest that we now heal the wounds, that we now open a new chapter, turn over a new leaf. No longer stand for the mediocrity that was the character of the last four years and return to the golden values of the past. I seek a time when our the banks will be full and our hospitals empty. When there will be zero unemployment. When not one beggar will stand on the street corner, palm outstreched, gazing blankly to the east, waiting for the sun to rise. A time when the dollar will once again stand tall, broad shouldered, slim waisted, against the flaccid currencies of the world. And great fields of waving wheat will go on endlessly and promising a harvest that will feed the poor across the earth. Throughout the free world the economies are falling like dominoes, collapsing like a house of cards to the whims of crypto communizm that used to flow from the east. And now up from the south. We know that for instance Belize and the entire island of Granola have fallen, and that Saddam keeps raising his ugly head, while the present administration, that filthy venal house of slimy reptiles, all of whom have had their hands in our pockets from the beginning seem - paralyzed, unable to act decisively.

I may be a candidate for the president, but I'm no different from you. I've stood in line to the laundromat waiting to buy fabric softener. I have been unable to find a baby sitter on a Saturday night. I have been mocked by good looking women. I have watched people get ahead of me in a supermarket line. I have had people, as I raise my hand to make a point, turn their heads away from exposure to my underarms. And I have entered a room and discovered, only later, that my fly was open for the entire social interaction. I'm just like you.

My family was very poor when we came to this country on board M/S Stefan Batory, and landed on an offshore oil platform. Where we were stranded for may years, thinking in fact, that it was America. And that America was a small, but highly industrialized country. Finally we made it to the mainland, where we first found employment as street sweepers, window washers, elevator operators, ditch diggers, chicken pluckers, cleaning ladies, bank tellers, laundry men, shrimp peddlers, mattress stuffers and factory workers. The hours may have been long, the food poisonous, the materials with which we worked - toxic and the homes we lived in - filthy hovels. But these privations were nothing compared with the rewards. The sweet buoyancy of being one's own man, of being able to breath free and stand tall. To speak your peace and write a letter to the editor.

And now in the second and third generation, from Galician serfdom and grinding poverty we worked our way up the ladder of success, so that our college educated children have become wealthy lawyers who cause untold hours of endless litigation and meaningless misery for legions of people drawn, Kafka-style into the court system, for reasons they know not why, and for termination they shall never experience. Our children have become prosperous scientists, who engage in bizarre and painful medical experiments under the guise of research. And practice horrifying gene splitting experiments on animals to produce bizarre results and unkillable viruses. Our children have become affluent members of the advertising establishment who thru intimidation, fostering and broadcasting of anxiety provoking adverising messages, have caused people to involuntarily proceed to retail establishments and empty their pockets in order to receive momentary relief from fear, by purchasing items they don't really want or need. Our children have become highly paid mercenaries of the broadcast and entertainment industry, who have created diversions capable of deflecting the public's attention from the real problems of the world and making them think, that the trivial and inconsequential purportings of shallow entertainers can bring about a mement of relief from the reletless, grinding exploitation, which all elements of society now experience. Our children have become politicians, who having passed through the charade of elections and impositions of elected power, line their pockets with ill gotten fortunes. And our children have become diplomats, who have caused an unprecedented era of international mistrust and hatred among nations. Yes, from serfdom and grinding poverty, from humble origins the hard working resouceful offsprings of my immigrant family have achieved the american dream.

And now our children have moved out of the cities to populate the verdant green hills and magnificent dales and glens of the suburbs. Where they live in Tudor mansions, Tyrolian castles, southwestern haciendas with long gravel driveways which wind behing golf courses manicured by yet another wave of immigrants. Yes, the city may have it's great museums, it's concert halls, ballet theatres. It's great statuary. Yet it stands side by side with drug dealer, and the homeless, the beggar, the ill washed, the defamed and the disenfranchised. While the suburbs in their simplicity posses the epitome - the shopping mall. That great enclosed dome with water falls and skylights and escalators. Where the essentials of life, Mr. Doughnut, Shoe World, Cousin Waldo's Record World, await our arrival. One world where a single language replaces all linguistic differences, where a single currency transcends all others.

My fellow Americans...