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Ring, meet my hat 

My name is Shredder, and I would like to be your next SLO City Council person.

Please accept this as my informal formal application. I do have a résumé, but it got ruined in the wash after my dog ate it. Even so, I hope you will still accept my humble application to your deplorable organization that I revile with every cell in my body.

And please disregard that last bit. I was trying to channel some Hunter S. with this whole journalist-cum-politician thing, which is a lot less dirty than it sounds.

Below, I have included my 200-words-or-less statement of qualifications that will probably end up being more than 200 words, including a few words I might just make up.

For example, my enamorment with government began as a young tot when my parents left me at a City Council meeting because it’s cheaper than a baby sitter and there’s occasionally free water.

My availability varies depending on mood and whether anything good is on TV, though I consider anything on the Food Network worth watching, as well as most obscure foreign game shows. I also have to work my schedule around a suicidal pet goldfish that needs constant attention. He jumped out of his bowl a few weeks ago. With quick action, I managed to scoop him back in before his little fish mouth gasped its last gasp, but he’s a little worse for wear—his left fin fell off and he looks to be infected with the black plague. Then he jumped out a second time—again I saved him before he swam to that big aquarium in the sky—and I fear he’ll try it again.

I would like to be appointed to the City Council because my self-esteem sucks, and it’s always nice to be appreciated—not like those little brats in grade school who always picked me last and then ganged up to pelt my nose with red rubber balls. I still flinch every time I hear that “ping” sound. It shouldn’t be an issue so long as I can sit out city dodgeball games—I hear the top officials tend to be headhunters.

You’d be a fool to overlook my celebrity prowess. I’ve been a staple in this community for so long it makes my teeth hurt. I’m not allowed to appear in person, but I’m willing to teleconference meetings while I sit in the tub.

   My volunteer experience has included writing this silly thing every week, and one time a driver asked me for directions and I obliged. Sure, I had no idea where he was trying to get to or how to get there, but I took the time to raise my pale, feeble arm and point down the block, which is a good deed in itself, not to mention one hell of a workout. They say it’s the thought that counts.

My qualifications are extensive.

I’m tenacious: I once watched a whole City Council meeting without waking up to a pool of drool congealing on my notepad, which itself was mostly marred with scribbles and doodles of Dave Romero fighting laser-eyed monsters.

I’m willing to ban, prohibit, overregulate, or get really scared of almost anything. Let’s say you want a citywide crackdown on people who wear intimidating shoes? I say flip-flops for all. Or a prohibition on dancing? Stand still, you wriggling hippies!

I’m fearless: I listened to all of Justin Bieber’s albums in one sitting. Don’t ask why.

I know the law: After so many arrests, you start to pick up on the finer points of the penal code.

I know how to rally public support through lying—or political honesty, as I like to call it.

Though I don’t have any prior experience in government, per se, I have had experiences with and within government. I once pooped in the city manager’s private bathroom just to see what it felt like. It wasn’t bad, but not great. And I often speak up at meetings. Well, I yell at the live feed on my TV a lot, but it should still count.

You won’t have much trouble navigating my statement of economic interest because I have practically no personal economy, and if I did, it wouldn’t be very interesting.

You would be a fool not to appoint me; just look at the competition.

There are only three others asking to be appointed to the City Council. And not to muckrake, but I wouldn’t go to the trouble of lifting up a phone if one of these chumps was being mauled by a bear.

Dan Carpenter likes long walks on the beach and vegetarian cooking. No, really. Just look at his résumé. It includes “beach, walking, vegetarian cooking, historic preservation.” Perhaps he likes preserving historic beaches so he can walk on them to gather sea cucumbers for his vegetarian meals. Except I think sea cucumbers aren’t really a vegetable—and I’m pretty sure they’re poisonous.

Be careful, Dan! Or not. After all, I’m looking to weed out the competition.

Kevin Rice thinks “the people of San Luis Obispo deserve to be represented by a council of their choosing.” But he still applied to be appointed while the councilmembers snub the notion of election. Is this a man to be trusted?

Rice also says he’s willing to work 40 hours a week minimum. Nuts to that. I’m changing my availability to 40 hours per day. Boo yah!

Patricia Andreen has a long history of defending public entities in lawsuits, so she’s clearly a woman of the people.

In conclusion, I believe my presence on the City Council would be entertaining for at least a day.

Anything is possible if you apply yourself, especially applications. Send bits of wisdom to [email protected].

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