COLUMN: Coroner

People sometimes ask what compels me to be a columnist. Simple: to become famous and all-powerful so I can procure a horde of evil minions to rule the world with an iron fist. Duh.

But let's be honest. My path towards global conquest has thus far NOT been speedy. As of press time, my fists continue to be softer than iron, and so far I've only managed to recruit three minions, and that's only because I feed them and change their litterboxes. They're certainly evil, but I've yet to notice any of them do my bidding (unless my bidding requires hairballs.)

But an opportunity just crossed my path that could change everything.

True story: I just received an e-mail that says, and I quote, "The Rock Island Democratic Party is looking for folks in our county to run for local office. Would you like info on how to run?"

(Cue evil laugh.)

I've never had political ambition in my life. I can barely make eye contact with strangers, let alone govern them. I've been to a few city council meetings, and, umm, no thanks. Unlike Alexander Hamilton, I have no earthly desire to be in the room where it happens. All things considered, I'd rather be in the DJ booth in the dance club down the street from the room where it happens. 

If I'm going to run for office, it needs to be something innocuous. One of those jobs where most people don't even know what it is that you do... Clearly, I need to be your next comptroller (whatever that is.)

I'm pretty sure I have exceptional comptrolling skills. I will troll the meanest comps you've ever seen.

Other candidates might not be brave enough to make bold promises on the campaign trail, but not me. I'm a man of action. When you elect me, on my VERY FIRST DAY in office, I promise to waste no time before looking up the word "comptroller" in the dictionary to find out what it means. Heck, I'll do it right now.

Oh. Never mind. It involves numbers. Yuck. I can barely keep track of my OWN money, let alone anyone else's.

Trolling comps is a no-go for me, but that doesn't mean I'm thwarted. I just need to find some other public office that would be a perfect fit for a nerdy newspaper columnist with an extensive resume of music collecting, litterbox cleaning, and television consumption. There's only one obvious choice.

I need to be your next coroner.

Sorry, current Rock Island County Coroner Brian Gustafson. I've never met you and you seem like a decent guy. But the people demand I seek public office, and coroner seems pretty swell. I might not have any experience, but I did watch that one episode of "Quincy, M.E." where he confronts the troubling and dangerous fad of "punk rock," so I think I've got the basics down. (Off topic: If you haven't seen that episode, seek it out. It's magic.)

There's only a couple roadblocks to me being your next coroner: I have no medical experience and no earthly desire to ever see anyone's innards. But I have a plan: If you elect me coroner, I'll skip the icky innards and save a ton of time by simply labelling everyone's cause of death as "sexual misadventure." Not only will the county save money on fancy autopsy equipment, but if every death in town suddenly gets attributed to salacious and tawdry unmentionables, we could probably heat the entire county on the power of water-cooler gossip alone. Clean, renewable energy derived from pure, locally-sourced rumor mills. Good for the environment, good for Rock Island.

But alas, my dreams of public office were dashed once I discovered I'd have to quit THIS job. If I ran for office, I'm pretty sure the paper in fairness would have to legally give humor columns to anyone else running for the same office -- and if there's one thing prospective coroners are known for, it's their ability to make people laugh. I don't need competition like that in my life.

So, Rock Island Democrats, I sadly decline your kind offer -- for now. Maybe someday. Until then, I'll be hanging out with my minions and launching an exploratory committee (which will likely involve watching many more episodes of Quincy, M.E.)