Posers, Hosers, Indecent Exposers

Someone said, "Politics is the last refuge of the scoundrel". That's one of those sentences you'd love to claim for your own, isn't it? In eight words it captures and describes all the leaders, lawmakers, and promise breakers all over the world.
 It's one of those strange quirks in human nature that positions of power attract the exact people who should never be allowed outdoors without a guardian. Another quirky habit we have is that, no matter how obvious a bumbling nincompoop a person is, we will stand in line on a rainy day to hand over the reins to him, her, or it, as the case may be. This is called our Right To Vote. It's a way to let the masses think they're in charge of their lives. Now and then, people notice that nothing really changes, unless it gets worse. But that's OK. We have our Right To Vote!
 I have often considered taking over the known world. Believe me, I would be a great Emperor of All I Survey. I would be kind to most of you, and forgive your trespasses as you forgive mine. Fat chance of that, eh?
 The first inviolable rule would be to eliminate the color pink. It serves no purpose, and makes me queasy. On a more positive note, there would be beer and wine in all public fountains, and it will only rain at night, when it sounds nice if you're in a warm dry place. All dogs will run free, and all cats will be on a leash or confined to house arrest. Any animal that enjoys torturing birds and mice before it kills them shows a clear psychosis.
 My most obvious qualification to gain your vote is that I can lie so convincingly I even believe myself. Yesterday, I wrote of my comfortable old farmhouse, my fireplace, and my faithful hound, none of which are real. This morning, I woke up in my real house. It's ninety- seven years old, and has no fireplace or hound or log pile in it. It's heated by a cranky old furnace, once fueled by coal, then converted to oil, then to gas. It's situated on what once was a potato farm, but it's no farmhouse.
 My grandson just arrived, so I must resume my campaign for your trust at a later date. I hear the steam hissing from the old radiator, a comforting sound on a raw December day.