Once again the Masked Pundit’s providing sage infused nuggets of wisdom to Central Adirondackers scared goofy by the crumbling American dream.

Dear Masked Pundit, is there anybody in America I can confidently vote for in the 2012 Presidential election? Signed, Kitty Litter, Thendara.

Kitty, the operative word is confidently. This may be the goofiest cadre of candidates for high office I’ve experienced in my forty-nine-year voting career. And trust me, I’ve voted for some goofy characters. Do the names Nixon, Agnew, Quayle, Gore and Biden ring any bells? Since these goofballs were actually voted in, I hold myself accountable for aggrandizing their otherwise lamentable political careers. As a result, I’ve lowered my sights. My only prerequisite for the next leaders of our nation is that they keep America’s beer taps flowing.

As insurance, I’m endorsing Jack Joyce for President, Bob Woodell for Vice President, Rob Strasser for Secretary of State and Jeff Schultz for Chief Economic Advisor. They’re the upstanding Americans who brew and distribute Rouge Ales outta Lithia Creek, Oregon. These patriots are the leaders of the true “Rogue Nation.” I’m confident they’ll continue to provide intoxicating craft beers at heady prices.  

Dear Masked Pundit, can you comment on the TOW Supervisor election? Signed, ZaZa from Minnehaha.

Hey Za, I can comment on anything because I’m the Masked Pundit and nobody intimidates the Masked Pundit. Except Alberto Del Rio, the reigning WWE Champion. He’s one nasty eye gouging hombre. TOW Supervisor was a gut wrenching marathon between community-conscious contenders. Although most politicians put me off my feed, I can state unequivocally that TOW Supervisor-elect Ted Riehle’s spicy moose sausage and maple syrup flan, a recipe he pinched from his chef brother, are both Michelin Star worthy. Congratulations to Ted and his challengers for a scintillating battle for President of Old Forge and surrounding fiefdoms. Let’s remember next election that a gentlepersonly duel immediately following the primaries would’ve settled the outcome instantly and rendered those slo-mo absentee ballets superfluous.  

Dear Masked Pundit, which candidate got the most votes in the TOW elections? Signed, Tyrone Shoelace,

Otter Lake. Ty, that would be DPW boss Casey Crofut who received a vote from every man, woman, child, dog, cat and parakeet residing in the TOW. Now I’m asking myself, “Why didn’t Casey Crofut run for Governor if he’s so fashionable?” Heck, he received 20 more votes than incumbent Patrick Russell, so he should at least be District 15 Herkimer County Legislator-elect? Politics are bewildering.

Dear Masked Pundit, I remember you dismissing Newt Gingrich and his third First Lady, Callista, as serious candidates for the Presidency? Signed, Chris P. Bacon, Raquette Lake.

Gee Porky, I thought Raquette Lakers were too urbane to read my silage. Anyhow, American voters are addicted to goofy politicians with dubious scruples. We once again embrace the Newtster, not because he’s a pseudointellectual, but because he’s the only Speaker of the House of Representatives to have been drawn and quartered for ethics violations. During his four year reign of terror, 84 ethics violations were filed against him. Okay, so only one stuck and he received a measly reprimand after lobbyists paid his historic $300K fine. We admire the Newtster because he’s a mischievous lad who lives on the edge of decorum. He’s akin to philandering pot bellied pigs, who steal your heart with their chubby hams and outrageous antics. I think it’d be entertaining to have the Newtster and Calli snarfling around the Oval Office for the next couple of years. But remember, pot bellied pigs become aggressive if they’re cooped up in small spaces too long. The Newtster could go berserk and sail to Greece if denied his morning slop.

Dear Masked Pundit, have you been occupying Wall Street? Signed, Penny Loafers, Too Long Lake.

Pen-Lo, I just returned from UC-Davis where I imbedded myself with bothersome dissidents who claimed to be fed up with the hoity-toity manipulating the American economic system at the expense of the hoi-polloi. Their goal was to occupy a section of sidewalk and disrupt foot traffic to the campus cafeteria. Since I’m highly agitated with the lack of leadership in our nation’s capital, I thought I’d sit a spell with the rabble. Suddenly, a ravenous campus cop approached and sadistically doused us with pepper spray. The peace officer didn’t even ask to see my sickening medical history before compromising my integumentary system with enough oleoresin capsicum aerosol to incapacitate a thousand pound grizzly. He was obviously PO’d because his route to the luncheon meatloaf special was obstructed. Geez, the worst I got from a cop when I imbedded myself in a Tea Party rally was a bruising pat on the back.

After being resuscitated, I crawled across West Covell Blvd. and imbedded myself in the Dos Coyotes Border Cafe. I ordered the Coyotes’ Ying Yang Jicama Salad and charged it to Publisher Kevin McClary’s hoity-toity expense account. By the way Kevin, the Sioux City orange cream soda at Dos Coyotes is mind-bending. I’ve decided that the Express doesn’t pay me enough for covert operations, so I’ll stick to making a spectacle of myself at Adirondack saloons and Nard recitals.

  Dear Masked Pundit, how do we turn the economy around? Signed, Bill Meelater, Blue Mountain.

Bill, it’s got to get done at the local level. Every local government must include an annual budget line for Spanish El Gordo lottery tickets. Each Christmas more than $3.3 billion is given away to blessed winners worldwide. The odds of winning can be as low as one in three, unless I buy a ticket. Then the odds rise slightly to one in a trillion. El Gordo is the oldest lottery in the world, dating back to the 1812 Spanish War of Independence. You think you’re gonna get one in three odds from Goldman Sachs? Why not invest your tax revenues in El Gordo this Christmas and be among the throngs on Dec. 22, chanting Gordo, Gordo, Gordo. I doubt there’ll be anyone but Forbes 500 CEO’s in their village squares chanting Wall Street, Wall Street, Wall Street.