It just occured to what Gore must be thinking right now as he reads all of this, and I think it goes something like this:
Fuck you.
You had your chance.
I'm bigger than the United States now. I'm working for humanity, for the planet, for the future. This stupid has-been superpower started going to hell in a handbasket the moment you pulled the presidency out from under me.
I don't need you now. I'm rich, I'm a rock star, I have the respect of everyone worth talking to on the planet. I'm going to enjoy my beer and not worry about what you or anybody else thinks.
I went through hell for you. I put up with so much of your shit. You constantly made fun of me. You blamed me for things that weren't my fault. You held me to impossible standards. Nevertheless, I STILL won the popular vote, and we all know damn well I would have won Florida too if it weren't for those damn ballots.
Not that I didn't deserve some blame. The worst thing about being a high-profile politician is that it does turn you into a kind of monster. I became a person I didn't like. I did and said things I'm not proud of, and I wince too when I look at old tapes of myself.
I like myself now. Sure I'm overweight. That's my biggest problem right now. Do you know how good it feels to have something like that be your biggest problem? Okay, and my son is dealing with some serious issues. At least now when he talks to me I can be fully present with him in a way I couldn't if I was twisting and turning myself into politically compromised pretzels.
The point is, I'm a real human being now. You're right when you said I was a robot. A president can't be anything else. The reason I was so obviously a robot is because I'm bad at it. You think Clinton wasn't a robot? Or Hillary? They're both great robots - you can barely tell if you don't know them. Reagan was the master robot. Bush's dad was a terrible robot, as were Carter and Nixon. Johnson was the last non-robot president.
I don't want to talk about the current president. You can't make me.
Now I'm getting upset and bitter. Just thinking about what a waste it all was. It really didn't have to be this way. America was poised for greatness in 2000. The cold war was past and paid off, we were at the forefront of the technological revolution that changed the world (and of course I didn't invent it, but I was one of the first politicians, and by far the most prominent elected official, to take it seriously, realize its implications and make sure that the government played its part in its development), and it looked like the culture had finally matured to the point where we could face our issues with poverty, race, health care, and education head on.
And, of course, do something about global warming when there was still time to make a difference.
Fuck you. I can't say it enough. Maybe I couldn't have saved the poles from melting, but I could have bought us some time, made plans, been pro-active. Maybe there would be fewer bloggers quibbling with me about my science, telling me how I got it all wrong. Tell it to the fucking polar bears.
Now I'm angry. That doesn't become me. You don't understand - you think I should be flattered by all this president talk. It just depresses and infuriates me. It's like that girl who broke your heart calling you after seven years after she read about you in the paper and realized that you aren't a loser after all, and acting like she's doing you a favor by indicating that she's available for you to ask out (of course, she's still seeing a few other guys, and is still over a year away from deciding who she wants to marry, but at least I'm under consideration.) Fuck you. Guess what -- YOU aren't in MY league. Go to hell. Mark my words - no matter which robot you elect next year, by 2012 people will no longer use "America" and "superpower" in the same sentence. You'll be in the same league as Russia and Brazil and Canada and India. Chinese will be a requirement for business majors. People will still be arguing over how best to rebuild New Orleans and Ground Zero, if they haven't given up on both by then. There'll be at least one more Katrina-like disaster befalling another major American city. And maybe something even worse in store.
There are things I know about 9/11 I have to go to my deathbed without ever revealing. But I can tell you this: we're no less vulnerable now than we were on 9/10. And that, too, might very well have been different had I gotten to do the job most of you wanted me to do.
So, while you're struggling to get out of crippling debt, or going to the emergency room next time your kid gets sick, or preparing to kiss your home goodbye if you live in a low-lying area of a coastal town, I'll be having dinner with the smartest minds on the planet, or delivering a lecture for which I'll be well-paid, or having sex with TIpper.
Take your Draft Gore petitions and recycle them.