The crowds roared with cheers that could’ve deafened any seasoned politician, but not Will Winton, the revered blue dress-smearing two-term pwesident.
“And who are we going to elect in two years to the highest office of the land?” he shouted into the microphone with his trademark index finger hand gesture and turn to the left side and biting of the lower lip.
“Willary! Willary! We want Willary!” the thousands chanted. Pandemonium ensued in the Wittle Wock awena.
“And let me introduce to you the next president, my beloved wife Willary,” former President Winton said to thunderous applause. Will continued his introduction for another five hours twenty-five minutes.
Will finally paused with a big bweath. “And in conclusion, it is a distinct honor and a high privilege to introduce former New Work senator and Secwetawy of State, our next president, Willary Wodham Winton!”
In came Willary in a blue and pink pantsuit, waving to the crowd, her eyes bursting in surprise and pointing and waving to friends in the crowd. She gave a lovely speech announcing her intention to run for pwesident and pwomised she’d only give four thousand policy speeches and wear fifty-five pantsuits during the campaign.
Editor Nielsen finished reading his famous correspondent’s report.
“Damn it all, anyway,” Nielsen said. “Who had the wise idea to hire Elmer Fudd as a political correspondent anyway?”
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