As for the shoes: Ladies and gentlemen, I am prepared to take the oath: I am not now, and never have a been, a wearer of Gucci shoes. I have never tried a pair on. I have never been alone in the same room with a Gucci shoe. And I most certainly was not wearing a pair while I was visiting the pigs in Iowa. I must correct this slur upon my reputation! (Granted, I should have taken into account the probability that if Campaign Carl was in the neighborhood and saw anything but a lace-up or a plow shoe, it might befuddle him.)

As for the golf cart, it was getting close to the time I was supposed to do a live CNN interview on the other side of the fairgrounds. Chuck hailed a fair official in a golf cart who gave Chuck and me a lift over to the media interview area. As I recall, that was the end of our visit to the fair.

So Mr. or Ms. Dark Horse, you have not played by the rules, you late-comer, and your belly fire is suspect. And people will go to great lengths to prove their suspicions correct. Therefore, you must be willing to run over your grandmother, mortgage your soul, and behave like an over-caffeinated Elmer Gantry in order to make up for your insolence. Only then will they be comfortable with the idea of your being president.