It’s been a turbulent year, I admit.

All around the country and globe, over the course of the last year, there was strife, anxiety and worrisome trouble spots.

It’s why I decided a year ago to run for president.

I had company; everyone wanted to be the chief executive a year ago.

We’re down to handful today, thankfully. 

I can’t remember when I exited the campaign, but I had my reasons. I) I didn’t have a campaign manager; 2) I didn’t have any money; 3) my platform showed signs of crumbling; and 4) my wife threatened to leave me if I didn’t stop “this lunacy,” she called it.

“You’re going to save the world?” she asked.

It’s worth a try, I intimated.

That wasn’t what she asked, I was informed in no uncertain terms. “I asked,” she said, “if it is your intent to save the world? I didn’t ask if the world is worth saving.”

If you subscribe to the Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus theory, you should have an appreciation for what I was dealing with.

“I think I’m the man for the job, yes.”

“Good Lord.”

We can use His support, too, I said.

“Good grief.”

There will be grief en route to the White House, you can be sure, I explained. But there will no grieving, I stressed.

“Good luck.”

We’ll need some luck, too, I suppose, I suggested.

“STOP,” she screamed. “Dear, you really should see someone.”

Funny, you should say that, I countered. As we speak, I explained, our lawyer is exploring the possibilities of purchasing lakeshore properties at Golden Lake in Steele County, Lake Tschida in Grant County, Strawberry Lake in McLean County and Rock Lake in Towner County.

Pray tell, what for? the bride wanted to know.

If the state Legislature will oblige, we’ll open topless beaches. California is pursuing the same economic development, I explained.

We can’t miss, I insisted. Casinos in every county is out of the question. The Information Highway has run out of road and industry out of steam. The buzz word today is: SKIN.

A sure thing, the bride agreed. “I can see it now, billboards and beaches proclaiming: GAWKERS WELCOMED, FISHING PROHIBITED.”

Nothing so brazen as that, I said, aghast.

“I suppose you’re telling me that we’ll want to do this for health reasons?”

Something like that, yes.  Bask in the glory of the sun and the glow and glory of, of the . . .

“Never mind. And in the winter, are we promoting topless ice fishing?”

Invigorating.

My scheme for topless beaches in North Dakota had a shorter shelf life than my run for the presidency.

My brief run at the presidency was not without its rewards. I was visited by the FBI, Immigration Service and the press, of course.

The Immigration Service was more intrigued with my idea of topless beaches. They offered to act as a pipeline. “You need bodies, we got bodies.”

Degenerates, all, said my bride.

Around about this time Anna Nicole Smith’s baby was without a father.

I, of course, threw my hat in the ring.

Admitting parenthood at this stage in my life wasn’t easy. I had some explaining to do, you understand.

The bride didn’t understand, I can tell you that. Columnists across the country are claiming to be the baby’s father. We were all at the same convention, I tried explaining.

There is no easy way to explain a tryst with a former Playmate, Hollywood starlet and headline grabber, I know that now.

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus again . . .

You can imagine the strain all this was on our marriage.

First, I want to run for president. Then, I dream up this scheme for topless beaches. Finally, I confessed that I was the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s million dollar baby.

“What next? The bride wanted to know.

Dunno, I admited.

“I do,” she said.

Is there a doctor in the house?