I’m not a witch. I’m nothing you’ve heard. I’m you. None of us are perfect, but none of us can be happy with the things we see all around us: Politicians who think spending, trading favors, and backroom deals are the way to stay in office.

Seriously, though, I’m not a witch. To even say that I “dabbled” in witchcraft is an overstatement. I got about three chapters into the Book of Shadows and had barely immolated my first wax poppet when I found Christ. It wasn’t like I got kicked out of the coven because I messed up my Latin conjugation in the Black Mass and gave the high priestess herpes, or something like that.

Let’s look at the hard evidence. If I’m a witch, how is it possible that Chris Coons still has the head of a man, and not that of a boar? You’d think at a minimum there’d be a blight on his koi pond, or that he’d be seduced by the occasional succubus. But no, he keeps on preaching the same old Washington politics without once projectile-vomiting his entire intestinal viscera into Rachel Maddow’s face. What self-respecting, patriotic witch wouldn’t make that happen?

Also, if I were a witch, I wouldn’t have to run for the Senate to take our country back. I’d cut out the middleman and curb government spending by sealing off the Treasury with a moat of boiling blood. Furthermore, I wouldn’t have gone on MTV to warn about the dangers of lustful fantasies; I’d just make bats fly out of your hoo-ha every time you touched yourself down there. And more likely than not, I’d have magically inserted myself into the first Harry Potter book, gotten on the Hogwarts school board, instituted a creation science-based curriculum, and fired Dumbledore for promoting his alternative lifestyle.

Of course, I would mostly use my powers to benefit the people of Delaware –- the real Delaware, not Wilmington. Like, I would make our state a lot bigger. As far as I can tell, it could fill up half the Atlantic Ocean, and there would still be plenty of room for fish and stuff. And once we had all that extra land, I would make our famous Delaware chickens really huge, so we could keep enjoying their meat but kill fewer chickens. Every chicken would be eight or nine feet tall and feed, like, 300 people. I don’t see a downside.

So, you can go to the polls in November and pull the lever for me, knowing full well that I won’t put a hex on Harry Reid that makes flesh melt from his bones every time he closes a corporate tax loophole. That is, unless you really want me to. I’m sure there are charms that can cure the priestess’s herpes, and I’m willing to study hard. In fact, if it comes to it, I’ll do everything in my power to open the bowels of the Earth and swallow the entire Democratic caucus into the fires of Gehenna.

Isn’t that what you’d do?