My candidate lost.

I calculate she got .000000000000001 percent of the vote or possibly less. Precisely one vote, precisely my vote.

You see, I wrote in my wife, Sandy, on the ballot for President of the United States of America, aka The Big Kahuna aka The Big Enchilada.

“Sure,” you’re snickering, “this clown voted for his wife because he wants something, and we don’t want to know what he wants because this is a family newspaper.”

Why did I do it? Not to be cute or snarky, but because over the past 18 torturous, painful and pitiful months I got to thinking that America needs someone with values to lead this country, someone who respects women, men, immigrants, the landed gentry, the rich, the poor, the young, the old, and her husband. (Well, maybe not that last one.) Someone who values life, every life, all life.

Someone who tells the truth in big matters and in small matters. She certainly does that, and it can be embarrassing. For example:

“Why didn’t your husband come to the party?”

My suggested response: “He wanted to, but he came down with a stomach bug.”

Her response (the truth): “He hates to socialize. He’d rather stay home reading Plato or whatever the *@#%&!@$ he's reading.”

OK, sometimes the truth hurts, but she tells it anyway because she believes if you stop telling the truth in little things, eventually you’ll stop telling the truth in big things — and we’ve seen countless examples of that.

Then, there’s the question of compassion. She’s always giving to the needy, to veterans, to relief agencies, to soup kitchens, to the fire department and the police department, even though it’s my money and there’s not much of it. OK, OK, don’t lecture me. I know that in post-feminist society, it’s OUR money. Whoever it belongs to, she gives it away anyway. Just don’t ask for a handout because the vault is hereby closed since I have to save for retirement.

Equally important, she pays the bills and balances the family budget, which is something I can’t do, but neither can the Obama administration. Plus, she’s not a crook or a fraud, which is more than we can say for some politicians.

“Who would make a great president?” I asked myself during the agonizing months of the campaign. You can be sure we’ll never see another George Washington or Abraham Lincoln or Harry S Truman because our government is motivated more by special interests, big money, and corruption than by virtue.

I deliberated over who I’d want for president. It had to be someone I could trust with my family, my dog, my life, everyone else’s life and my 401(k). The list of possible candidates was pitifully short. Mother Teresa, but she died. Abraham Lincoln, but he’s long gone, and I don’t think they’d let him run again even though the Republicans could use him now. Pope Francis, but he already has a job. Tom Brokaw, but he’s retired. Queen Elizabeth II, but she has citizenship issues.

As far as leadership experience, Sandy has none in the traditional sense, although she may have served on the Student Council at Amity High School, and she was president of the Ladies Guild, which could have helped her get the women’s vote.

To my thinking, our government needs real people, not professional politicians. Let it be also noted that she raised four daughters who know the difference between right and wrong, which is no small achievement in modern America, where “wrong” often masquerades as “right.” She also has this peculiar belief that prayer is more powerful than politics.

Many candidates lack the most fundamental thing necessary for genuine leadership — values. Instead, they’re motivated by political agendas, and they’re beholden to so many organizations and donors that they couldn't do the right thing even if they knew what it was.

Look at the corruption in New York State politics. If they have problems distinguishing between right and wrong, they have just as much difficulty distinguishing between truth and lies. Some of them don’t even realize they’re lying — or as Pontius Pilate, another legendary political leader, once said: “What is truth?” If you don’t know what it is, you certainly can’t practice it.

Actually, I’m upset with myself because if I had written this column 18 months ago, my wife might be in the White House today, and I could quit my job and sit around reading Plato in the Oval Office while she went to dinner parties. I’d just have to take away her email account because you know how those things can get you in trouble.

Contact Joe Pisani at