I urge each and every one of you to run a Google image search and see the evidence for yourself: photo after photo of a tall but wrinkled and sagging 64-year-old man—that's me—standing at various gala events, his arm wrapped around a stunning woman with glowing orange skin and beautiful platinum- highlighted hair. A bold woman, squeezed into a dress with a plunging neckline so low her enormous breasts seem almost ready to leap out and scream, "Hey world—look at us! We are married to a famous man we saw in Die Hard 2 when we were in college!"
That's her, ladies and gentlemen. That's my wife. Yes, we are actually married.
If elected, I pledge that same woman—who is a full six years younger than my eldest son—will be by my side at all state dinners, dressed to the nines, causing the Chinese delegation's jaws to drop in amazement at her gravity-defying rack.


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