An open letter to the citizens of Arizona from Steven Seagal:
Yes, I am considering running for governor of your state.
The idea came to me when I was in Phoenix taping my reality show “Steven Seagal: Lawman,” a show in which I pretend to be an actor pretending to be a bloated D-list action movie star pretending to be a cop.
The crew and I had surrounded a house where cockfighting was alleged to have taken place and, while the SWAT team broke in through the windows, I drove a tank through the dude’s front wall. It looked awesome on camera!
And on that day, I thought about the walls that separate us. The press, who I am convinced are all paid ninja assassins, wanted to focus on the puppy that had died, the suspect’s lawsuit and the 115 chickens that had to be put down. Not me. Steven Seagal can only move forward. I was ready to move on, like a great buddha, mindful of Arizona’s future.
Some say Arizona has become a laughingstock and that I would be just one more chopped walnut on top of the idiot ice cream sundae. Some say I’m a washed-up fat Elvis in a kimono, Chris Christie with seven black belts and a Bret Michaels hair bandanna, a joke.
My answer to those critics is simple: A roundhouse kick to any late-night comedian who opens his yapper. Are you listening, Stewart? Who wants to kiss my fists of samurai steel?
You can tell I’m serious because I’m squinting and frowning. That’s called acting, my friends.
As a candidate, my three issues would be border security, border security, border security. I will single-handedly guard Arizona’s border like I guarded Emperor Chow Mein’s palace in “Spank the Ninja.” I will crouch behind creosotes, and leap into the air over any border crossers who dare to cross my path. I’ll gouge out their eyes and tear out their spleens.
This is my destiny, for I am the reincarnation of a two-headed 17th-century llama once owned by Doctor Dolittle.
Moving from Michigan to Japan in my teens, I taught English to Pokemon characters, grew a mullet and studied martial arts under Pat Morita alongside the Karate Kid. I soon advanced to the level of Kahuna by snatching the pebble from David Carradine’s hand.
After studying under the great thespian William Shatner, I went on to star in cinematic masterpieces such as: “It’s All in the Wrist,” “Deadly Death” and “Enter the Spider Monkey.”
By then everyone was kung fu fighting. At this point any discussion about my ties to the CIA, the Fantastic Four, the Tibetan Mob or the Bourne Identity Program is strictly off limits.
Soon my career had gone straight to DVD, Hulk Hogan wasn’t returning my calls and here I was in Arizona, a member of the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department Posse, looking for a gig as a stunt double in “Jackass 4.”
Do I have the qualities it takes to be your governor? Can Sheriff Joe Arpaio wolf down a wheelbarrow full of donuts? Can Chuck Norris bend spoons with his mind? Arizona, I am the Jesse Ventura of your dreams.
Like Arnold Schwarzenegger, I have a neck the size of an elephant’s thigh and the political acumen of a gazelle. And yes, like Arnold, I have survived allegations of sexual harassment from women who refuse to bend like willows and follow the way of the harmonious spirit with my noble manner intact.
As for persistent questions about my hair, let me say I lost a match to Jean Claude Van Damme and that’s why I am cursed to wear an Eddie Munster wig.
Speaking of the ladies, I have been studying Jan Brewer, a crouching dragon rumored to dine on scorpions. When I saw her wag her Finger of Death in President Obama’s face, I knew she was a tigress! How awesome was that? Like her, I eat arachnids for breakfast.
Arizona, I’m ready to serve.
Until my next announcement, check your local TV listings for “Steven Seagal: Lawman.” In case you haven’t figured it out, Joe Arpaio is like a brother to me. Old Joe taught me how to milk the media spotlight better than Jackie Chan could milk the seven udders of the Sacred Bull in “Deadly Pagoda.”
And while I have your attention, be sure to try my new energy drink, “Gut Punch,” made from fermented rice, sauerkraut and Spanish peanuts.
One more thing: Arizona’s Constitution says I have to live in this stinking hellhole for five years to run. My answer to that challenge is simple. I will tear out the heart of the first little punk who brings it up.
This is the part where we bow to each other. Arizona, I await your call.