My fellow Americans, my name is Rod Blagojevich. I’ve come under fire lately for my political transgressions, but I still have my fair share of supporters out there. Many of my friends and family have called in the past few weeks to express their concern for my post-political career.
Today, I pass along this message to them: Don’t cry for me. Cry for the raccoon living on top of my head.
When I began my time as governor, I was a pathetic, bald loser. But my career, and my life, changed the day I adopted this adorable creature as my pet/toupee. Not only did he bring me an overwhelming sense of confidence I hadn’t felt before, he showered me with love by just being there for me. During boring meetings with my staff, he would hop off my head so we could play-fight on the ground. When I was in Congress, I would pass the time during longer sessions by trying to slip him Ritz crackers while no one was looking. Plus it always felt good, at the end of a long day, to come home, kick my feet up, and grab my woodland creature/hair piece off the top of my head and rub his belly while he licked my face. That’s why my biggest concern is not for me, but for his safety.
His name is Ray, by the way.
No matter what field I choose to enter, I doubt I’ll match my current salary as governor. I’m sure I’ll be able to pay for my own food and house, but what about Ray? I don’t know if you’ve seen the price tag on a bag of raccoon food, but it can be somewhat costly. Most people feed their raccoons/wigs garbage, but I refuse to give my little buddy anything but the best. Plus, he has a bad back, and raccoon back pills are notoriously expensive. To all my friends and loved ones: if you truly care about me, you’ll send me a check for a thousand bucks so I can take care of my furry companion/horribly obvious rug after I get booted from office.
I’ll never forget the day I met him. As soon as I saw him digging through the dumpster outside the Illinois governor’s mansion and I was able to verify that he was not rabid, I knew I had a best friend for life.
Ray has stood by me through thick and thin. Male pattern baldness is devastating to the male ego, especially to a man in a position of power such as myself. I felt powerless to stop my hair from thinning. But when Ray offered to live on my head and warm my barren skull, all my confidence problems washed away. My colleagues respected me. My political adversaries feared me. It even rekindled an old flame between my wife and I, reinvigorating our formerly passion-free marriage. Ray transformed me into a new man, and I owed him the world. In fact, when he attempted to accept payments in return for an appointment to Barack Obama’s Senate seat, I figured the least I could do was fall on that grenade for him.
So in closing, I’d like to remind everyone to keep this little guy in your thoughts and prayers during my incredibly trying time. He can’t get a job to support himself, so that’s why Ray needs your donation. You can feed him for only pennies a day. And by pennies a day, I mean a briefcase full of larger bills that you can give to me at a secret location.
Again, don’t worry about me; I’ve set myself up to make millions after I resign as governor. After I saw Marley and Me, I went out and signed a book deal to write my memoir, tentatively titled The Wild Animal Pretending To Be My Hair and Me. Unfortunately, the studio couldn’t get Owen Wilson to play me in the movie. We had to settle for Scott Bakula wearing a coonskin cap.