Here we are, the midterm elections nearly upon us, so you’re probably wondering what I feed my campaign volunteers. They’re sitting there on the phones all day long and knocking on doors to beg for votes for my improbable candidacy, so obviously they need sustenance.

You imagine we’re doing a lot of bland pizza takeout, like in movies about improbable candidacies. Ha, what a laugh!

In the real-life front lines of bruising political battles like the one I’m embroiled in right now, well, let’s say I can’t be expected to get away with serving any old pizza. The American public is looking for my leadership, pizza-wise. It would be especially good if I could keep a constant flow of pizzas that I make myself in my backyard brick oven, my political tacticians keep telling me. “It’ll look good in photo ops!”

To hell with photo ops! Better than photo ops is getting Frank Pepe’s pizza right here in greater Chestnut Hill, MA for my campaign volunteers, who are, like, dude! Clams? On a pizza?

But that’s only half the story. The other half is the spinach, mushroom, and gorgonzola pie story. One of the great pizza stories ever invented.

And there you are in middle America thinking pepperoni is the national pizza of the USA.

See you on Tuesday.

There’s a lot of chatter these days about whether there will ever be a brown ale craze that matches the current IPA craze, and I can tell you with a very high degree of certainty that there will be.

You’re thinking: what, do I have a crystal ball or something? It turns out I do. I found a dirty old crystal ball in a garage sale this past weekend when we were vacationing in Jackson, NH, and as soon as I got home I set my mind to restoring it to near pristine condition. It’s not that hard to polish up a crystal ball. A little WD-40, some emery paper, some human spit and elbow grease, and, voila: a perfect crystal ball.

My investment paid off immediately: I’m already less resentful and hostile toward meteorologists, thanks to my crystal ball. I also can see the end of the hoppy ale craze, and the beginning of affection for the subtler, sweeter flavors that brown ales offer. When I look deep into the future, like three years from now, I see myself cutting deals with beer distributors for my brown ale, and imposing tariffs on those pubs that won’t play fair with brown ale.

I know what you’re thinking: any chance you can borrow my crystal ball? Sorry, I’m planning to use it this week.

However, I’ll note that you’re on the Crystal Ball waiting list.

For quite a while now, people have relied upon me to keep them up to date with the latest on mochi via my mochi blog, and once again I’ve let them down. I haven’t posted a decent mochi review in longer than I can remember. And I’ve heard your pleas and have witnessed your disgruntlement. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to defend myself.

Look, reviewing mochi might seem a dream job to you, but to me the day-in, day-out grind of it is wearying.

You scoff, but you’ve never had the pressure of finding nuances in mochi and writing about them, and I have. Excuse me while I get I tissue.

Sob, snort, hack, blow loudly.

Do you realize the kind of pressure I’m under, reviewing mochis for all my readers across the world? If it was something inconsequential, like chicken fingers, or chicken toes, no problem, but this is mochi, an American treasure.

Speaking of which, have you seen the mochi room at the Smithsonian? Hilarious!

Next week: why Costco Mochi kicks the ass of Super 88 mochi by miles!

I recently had breakfast with several of my lawyers, and one of them informed me that I can totally pardon myself, if, for some reason, I need to.

Not that I need to. Why would I need to pardon myself? Heh heh. Like, what, if I burp? Jim Kong Hun would probably not pardon himself if he burped, but I would. Because that’s what we do in America. We burp in public to indicate to the chef that the food was awesome. Then we officially pardon ourselves.

Because we Americans don’t need a handout when we belch. Having someone else pardon you is like taking charity. Come on, buddy, pardon yourself instead of relying on someone else to pardon you! I pardon myself left and right and really enjoy it. I don’t ask someone else to pardon me when I push past them in a shopping mall or collude with the Russians. I just manage the pardoning on my own.

Believe me, I’m going to trust this one lawyer of mine when it comes to pardoning.

Not that I need lawyers.