Elvis Nash for President: Finally, a Platform That Makes No Sense

I have decided to run for President of the United States.

Not because I think I’m qualified. Apparently that has never stopped anybody.

My campaign slogan:

ELVIS NASH FOR PRESIDENT — WE’VE TRIED EVERYTHING ELSE.

I have no 400-page political platform. Nobody reads those damn things anyway. I have a list of ridiculous problems that have been irritating me for years.

First executive order: Starbucks gets an express lane for black coffee.

If I walk in and say, “Black coffee,” I should not have to stand behind somebody ordering a half-caf oat-milk caramel macchiato with three pumps of something harvested in Peru.

Black coffee. Cup. Pour. Goodbye.

That’s government efficiency.

Banks will be required to admit they are not your friends.

Every bank entrance will have a sign:

WELCOME.
WE HAVE YOUR MONEY.
YOU NEED US MORE THAN WE NEED YOU.
LET’S NOT PRETEND THIS IS A RELATIONSHIP.

And if I have to explain banking to the teller, I get to go behind the counter and finish the transaction myself.

Credit-card payment websites must actually accept credit-card payments.

If your website has accepted my password for six years and suddenly says, “We don’t recognize you,” that’s your problem.

I recognize me.

Take the damn money.

Toll bridges will no longer be allowed to say the toll is “effective daily.”

We know.

You’re screwing us tomorrow too.

Social Security statements will come with a calculator and a sense of humor.

“Congratulations. You worked for 50 years. Here is enough money for groceries, electricity, or housing. Please select one.”

All debt collectors will be required to accept my official repayment plan:

“I’ll pay you when I win the lottery.”

That concludes negotiations.

Amazon will be prohibited from asking my wife, “Would you like something else with your order?”

NO.

She would.

That’s the problem.

You got the sale. Back away from the customer.

Every supermarket shopping list gets three automatic trips.

Nobody remembers everything the first time.

You go for milk.

Come home.

Forgot bread.

Go back.

Come home.

Now you remember the damn eggs.

This isn’t memory loss. It’s economic stimulus.

Positive-thinking books must offer a money-back guarantee.

If I buy Become a Millionaire by Thinking Like a Millionaire and I’m still broke six months later, I want my $19.95 back.

Apparently the only person who became a millionaire was the guy selling the book.

Casinos must replace “GOOD LUCK!” with something more accurate:

“THE BUILDING DIDN’T GET THIS BIG BECAUSE EVERYBODY WON.”

Restaurants will have a federal dinner-decision deadline.

You get 15 minutes to decide whether you’re hungry.

Then another 15 minutes to decide between steak and a tuna sandwich.

After that, the government selects a meal.

We cannot have Americans spending three hours deciding what to eat and then forgetting to eat altogether.

Roosters will be recognized as an approved sleep aid.

If somebody can sleep through a rooster screaming at sunrise, they have achieved a level of inner peace no pharmaceutical company can duplicate.

Dogs get unlimited bathroom stops on walks, but after ten pees we’re calling it what it is: sightseeing.

And if your dog kicks dirt 30 feet after taking a dump, that’s no longer dog walking.

That’s agricultural equipment.

Every town with a ridiculous name must explain who named it.

I want names.

I want dates.

I want to know whether alcohol was involved.

Cybertruck owners will receive one free opportunity to explain what the hell happened.

No judgment.

I just want to hear the story.

Anybody who puts $150,000 into a giant lifted Hummer must take it off-road once a year.

You bought something that looks prepared to invade Iraq.

You cannot spend its entire life sitting outside Costco.

There will be a Department of Murphy’s Law.

Its job will be absolutely nothing because the minute the government tries to fix Murphy’s Law, something else will go wrong.

That’s how Murphy works.

My Cabinet will be small.

Secretary of Common Sense.

Secretary of Leave Me Alone.

Secretary of Where Did I Put My Keys?

And Secretary of Who the Hell Approved This?

The State of the Union will last seven minutes.

“Country’s still here. Banks still have your money. Congress is still arguing. Gas costs too much. Your Amazon package will arrive sometime between 8 a.m. and Christmas. Good night.”

No balloons.

No 45-minute standing ovations.

Everybody gets home before Jeopardy!

Will any of this fix America?

Probably not.

But you’ll get your black coffee faster.

And frankly, that’s more than most presidential campaigns promise that I can actually deliver.

ELVIS NASH FOR PRESIDENT

2028

We’ve Tried Everything Else.