The Capybara Party Candidate

My presidential campaign has turned ugly. False accusations of my dishonesty, my deceit, and my character from many years past are now being exposed to distract voters from the real issues, corn and swimming pools. I hereby offer the following explanations and demand a retraction from my accusers.

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The emails are missing, due to a malfunction of my laptop.

I purport to be a unifying force for our citizenry, but I am accused of being a destructivist. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

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Squirrels are responsible for this breach.

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Simply a pin prick. I had a replacement swimming pool installed immediately after the discovery of this factory default.

I am a master of plausible deniability, and I will not let my good name be sullied by the acts of others.

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Merely modeling the harness in the back yard.

Simply having my harness on in the back yard is enough to inspire mud-slinging by my opposition. The fact that I am at the back gate dressed for the front yard does not necessarily suggest that I got out into the driveway and had to be brought in the back way, through the storage area. That would be an irresponsible statement, solely based upon circumstantial evidence. No one would comment if I was dressed this way at the other gate. This was taken out of context.

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I can walk right through every other fence panel, obviously designed to let capybaras through.

Grass is for eating, so are plants. It’s my yard, they are my plants.

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Not my fault, I wasn’t there. Long gone. See the rabbit?

Fat Bonnie, the rabbit, knocked the fences down. I may have to consider a cabinet position for her, after all.

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An open gate is a magnet.

I feel deeply about maintaining the Open Door policy.

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The Open Door policy is valid in the front yard, too. This is a nice snack bar. The Farm Manager calls it a “greenhouse.”

I want to point out that any occurrences above the height of an ordinary chair seat can in no way be attributed to me. I am a capybara, and I am only about 24″ high at the shoulders.

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“Oh, there’s a little dish of bird seed up here. Oops. That was a fragile little dish, wasn’t it?”

Misplaced blame. Sometimes I just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

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“Hey! Your plants fell down!”

Sometimes it just LOOKS like it was me, but of course it was someone else. We all kinda look the same.

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This could be anyone biting that boot. ANYONE.

Again, no way to prove that was me dumping the lettuce box. It’s a bad photo.

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But if someone was getting it down for the ducks, it doesn’t count, right? That’s a legitimate tax deduction.

Again, without DNA testing, this could be anyone. Why am I always the scapegoat?

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That’s a lotta birdseed.

People are saying I don’t represent the middle class. That’s a bunch of hooey.

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We all eat at restaurants once in a while, right? Grazing is for losers.

In fact, I own a few restaurants, and it’s nice, being served. You should try it some time.

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This was fancier before I ate the flowers off.

Full disclosure is for losers, too. Some information is personal, and I am the only one who can make that determination. So, butt out!

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Would you want the entire world to know your weight?

Seriously, who can take a candidate seriously when their lifestyle is degraded. You call THIS a swimming pool?

I am not an obstructionist. I am the gatekeeper.

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STAY OUT!

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STAY IN!

On the contrary, I keep things moving. Sometimes at a brisk pace! Uncooperative cats get herded.

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Run, Kitty Hawk!

The most hurtful criticism is regarding my alleged vulgarity. I don’t know how this vicious rumor started.

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Okay, my table manners are lacking.

After all, I am a wetland animal, and by wetland, they mean MUD.

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But it’s clean mud.

Try keeping your nose clean in this type of environment. Everyone gets caught once in a while.

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I think it’s just, you know, melted ice or maybe sloppy plant watering. It couldn’t be my fault, I’m not even allowed in that part of the kitchen!

I don’t know how these photos even got here. Where’s the editor?

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“Hey! What’s that smell?”


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