EPONYMOUS HIPPOTAMUS, PRESIDENT OF THE MOON

Without doubt, the single highest honor bestoweled upon me in my long, large, loquacious lifetime was my knighthood, presidioed over by Queen Elizabeth, as reward for the slaying of the Big Green Dragon that sat on her doorstep. A close second to my knighthoodlumry would be the time I held office as the President of the Moon.
I had been living on the newly colonized moon a mere matter of milliseconds when I was made aware a new government would need to be establified, and elections would be held to determine the leader of this new world. Immediately, I knew I was the only hippopotamus for this most prestigulous role. I approached the head of the Moon Colonization Committee and announced my intentions to campaign. He scoffed! Scoffed directly across my snout! “What, good sir, is the meaning of your scoff?” I demanded.
“You think you have the guts, the glory, the chutzpah to challenge me as President of the Moon? Hippo, you got a screw loose.” The head of the Moon Colonization Committee was a pool cue-thin, Christmas tree-bearded pot-bellied pig-headed fellow named Ulysses F. Snurb. His breath perpetually stank of some strong beverage that could surely be used to strip paint from a silo or fuel a forty-ton tanker. He didn’t much care for me. The feeling was mutual. There was no way I was going to let this scruffy little pupstart preside over the Moon Colony. The race was on!
I was encouraged, to put it politely, to withdraw from the race. I found unpleasant and misspelled words painted across my Moon Hut. Muscle-bounders in darkened spectacles and black leather coats ensnatched me from the Tacqueria and tossled me into a nearby crater. And, I found the head of my beloved boyhood rocking horse Rosebud in my bed one morning. But I refused to back down! I would not be intimothated by brute force. I had a vision, a dream, and a driving force behind my Presidential purpose.
My dream was that everyone would be welcome on the Moon, regardless of race, creed or species. Everyone should have the right to a fair trial, be you a petty thief or sketchy hypnotist. I wanted freedom for all, and a sandwich named after me, preferably involving Muenster cheese and pastrami. Also, I wanted a library. But mostly, I wanted peace and happiness all over the moon.
My opponents tried to tarnishake my reputation, claiming I set fire to Siamese kittens in my leisure time, ate infants raw with no vegetable side, stole thousands of simoleons from the destitute simians, and misused and made up words constantly. The unmitripated scawl! Ulysses F. Snurb, meanwhile, promised a kettle in every pot, a hand in every glove and two gulls for every buoy. I knew in my heart of heart of spade of diamonds that he had no intention soeverwhat of keeping these crocodile confidences, but I kept my ivory canine teeth tensed. I knew the people of the Moon Colony would trust me and understand Snurb was crooked.
I was wrong. Snurb won in a landslide, and swiftly took over the moon, ruling with an ironic fist. He forced all the men to wear paper bags over their heads and all the women, even the grandmothers, to give him kisses all day, every day. Every colonist was put to work day and night building a mansion for him and his cronies. After a week of this hard labor, I had had all I could stand, I could stand no more! “Ulysses!” I called out. “I’m calling you out!” Snurb, wielding a musket and wearing a pair of boxer shorts and suspenders, ran out from his half-completed mansion, screaming and waving his fist at me.
“You ingrateful river horse! I’ll blast you back to Earth!” He took aim, expecting me to run, to flinch, blufflepate. I stood my ground. He hesitated. I did not. He fired. I fell to the lunar surface, moon dust swirling above my supine frame. He gasped, then, slowly, giggled. As he turned to reenter his halfway home, I rose, bullet trapped betwixt my chompers. Mustering the mastery of my breath control, I expectorated the bullet, firing diaphragmatically directly at Snurb’s rumpus. He jumped so high, a cloud of exhaust followed him as he flew toward Earth, landing eventually in an active volcano.
And that, my fellow historians, is how I became President of the Moon. Until I was unfairly ousted by Martian Moderates. But that’s another story.

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