Maxed Out 

Finders keepers


Happily, this column is not about pay parking. It's not about asphalt. It's not about out of control municipal spending. It's not about secrecy. It's not about cute dogs and cats.

It's about all those things. Okay, it's not about cute dogs and cats.

Yes, it's time to dust off the Campagne de Fous and trot out another plank of Max's Big Tent platform, subtitled: A Primer on Saner Local Government.

A surprising number of people have, since I made my announcement in March, offered me money. True, some offered me money to leave town but I assume that has nothing to do with my political campaign since people have been offering me money to leave town for years now. And yes, smartypants, people other than whoever sits in the mayor's seat at the time.

No, people have been offering money to finance my Campagne de Fous. And while it's touching that so many who should obviously be institutionalized manage to live among us, it would seem hypocritical of me to be stumping for a more fiscally responsible municipal government while taking innocent peoples' money. It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, it's just I wouldn't know exactly what to do with their money and, perhaps more importantly, I would feel beholden to them. Okay, maybe I wouldn't actually feel beholden but they may think I should feel that way and there's no good outcome when two people have such divergent points of view.

So, one of the planks in my platform is that the Campagne de Fous is self-funded. Lest you think I'm foolish enough to waste my own money running for office, self-funded means, in this case, financed with found money.

This concept came to me one morning on my way to work - yes, it may surprise you to know I have a job requiring me to actually go to work... at least seasonally. Stumbling about in a morning daze, I was pleasantly surprised to find a twenty-dollar bill lying on the ground. It was an aha! moment.

"Aha!" I said, looking around furtively to see if there was anyone nearby who might have just dropped a twenty. The sidewalks were empty in the dawn of early morning. I picked up the bill and examined it closely. There were no distinguishing marks of ownership. Still, not wishing to give my future opponents any more scandalous fodder to use against me - reckoning I'd given them more than enough over the past 15 years - I put the bill in an envelope clearly marked, "Found Money," and sought out the rightful owner.


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