I'm the dark horse, "nota" candidate for president, yet to break a sweat from way in the back. But when asked about, anonymously, I poll the most votes, ahead of the pack. "Nota" is an acronym for none of the above, in my case, well above them, the distinguished man with a plan for lasting peace in Iraq, and everywhere else on the planet! I seek the singular nomination of both political parties, a first. With a single televised speech, I'm sure to win every heart. My peace tableau sets me apart.

I bring to our table the prophetic potential for world peace, for all mankind, given to me, in 1969, in the wilderness, 40 days and nights on an open sea, my qualifier for poet prophet, universal nominee.

During that journey, on an ocean going ship, with the ship's whole crew for witness, the LAN Lord uh pin Heaven revealed His word unto my mind, within His every line a delicate sensible rhyme, like what G-D did for Dante, when He inspired the poet with His Divine Comedy, and for Moses the Teacher, to whom He gave His Pentateuch and Kabbalah.

Eye say it is a 4th Estate job, locating the men aboard that ship, yet alive, to hear what they say they saw play in the sky, 38 years past yesterday.

(Elect me President! Send me to the White House!)

When whirld peace comes I will carefully describe exactly what is going to happen when the universe hiccups and the good ship mother urf burns up in a crisp, an event 185,000 years down stream.

I bring to the marketplace a new word order, the prophetic mull tie ling well Television Scripture, words, world orders, and word hors d'oeuvres, written down to be performed on worldwide television, from dusk until dawn, for all the world's peoples to participate in all at once: nothing less will do, likely a whole lot more. Here in our land of the free and home of the brave I seek to speak my Peace: a new world order, the panoply of your words reordered.

This is G-d's conception: all mankind taking one night off, for a change, your world, united for a worldwide all channels program, the first peaceful night in five thousand years of recorded history. We are all G-d's servants. Every buddy doing the same thing at the same time, watching me tell my vision, is clearly worth a Nobel prize for pizza. Are my refracted words, renewed, with every line a delicate rhyme, a horse of value worth your pizza time?

The other candidates for president of United States, politishinz, aren't galloping around with words for all mankind, promoting an exit plan to pull us out of Iraq, with a strategy inspiring the Iraqis to love and respect us. Regardless of assassins, politishinz, or elections, my plan will de-quag us from our mire in Iraq, my game plan is an Iraqi exit with your loved ones intact.

I characterize The Television Scripture, The Book ov Lev It A Kiss, a Vehicle for World Peace. The Book ov Lev, lettered by hand, is a magnum opus of our oldest stories, woven together with current events. Nixon leaves the White House in disgrace; dioxides bloom, the Arctic ice caps melt, beginning with Adman and Even back in the Gar Den ov Edum, c. 1971.

This truly prophetic Scripture is an inspired, living work, with world events, described in advance. The Book to come, a twelve our video trans crypt, will be given live for all the world's peoples at once, on whirled wide television. To you this is miss tickle. You miss a lot but get a tickle; yet to me, my words come natch a rill.

I tried to hold off the 1st Gulf War with my essay, Kuwaiting For The Dough. I flipped a coin, between The Gurgle and The Slimes, passed on The Wall Street Gurgle, and sent my lyric essay Kuwaiting for the Dough certified, with a self-addressed stamped envelope, to The New York Slimes.

A couple days later, a telling government echo bounced in my ear, my home phone, on Hoover's party line. My New World Hors D'oeuvres chapter, Kuwaiting For The Dough, with its years in advance descript of the twin Trade Towers coming down, was not re-turned to cinder. The N.Y. Slimes's copy -they don't have it- sits with FB-Eye, Classified Top Seek Writ, inside the original FBI folder is a Hoover notation, here word for word: "Shut this demagogic prophet down," writs of J. Edgarina, the fascist cross-dresser.

Hoover's quota, a written tattoo, lives forever, like an Auschwitz blue.

After a few days the echo was gone. I noticed, over the years the telephone echo would be there, then, a few days later, it would disappear. Whenever my brother called, click, the echo. Today though faint, it's around the clock, against our law, good reason for me to seek our highest office; my seek writ reason for wanting to be our president, to obtain, as much for you as for me, my domestic files which contain the deepest profiles ever to be doctored, for domestic counter intelligence reasons, on any American citizen, for purposes of violating said citizen's Constitutional Rights. My Rights, obliterated yesterday, blight your tomorrows.

Before Bush brought us to trample the Iraqi border the second time around, my car was keyed with a note left behind, "Give war a chance." I should have hollered out "hold up," at every Internet stop before the die was cast, our troops thrown into Iraq. By the same token, when I chanced an email to newspaper editors on this issue, Hoover's FB-Eye came knocking on my door, waving my email, asking could they come inside for a talk. Today it's my back door they knock. When will they show up to rattle-tat a chat with you?

With my Television Scripture ready to roll, my belief in the Bush cabal absolute, the unimpeachable Colin Powell, poaching chemical trucks on network television; I watched for Bush to pluck Saddam, it was so credibly easy to follow. Everything fit right in, mass weapons, Saddam or us, his lute for the course!

Today I curse my stupid trust, but for George W. Bush, his "war on terror," Bush imagines, will outlast all of us, beyond our judgment of history: Bush got Saddam, The Big Salami, "Little Bush's" self-imagined enemy, his Hussein take down and then some, conveniently propping up his stale "war on drugs," the death trap street corner smack, heroin pure Afghani black replacing crack, the victims in US, veiled for fresh arrest.

To exit Iraq, we must admit Bush-Cheney's Iraqi mission, democracy, was claptrap, their true purpose behind our thousands dead, democratize the Iraqi oil and pay Iraq a royalty. With Bush's possession of Iraqi law, instead of Iraqi oil belonging to the Iraqis,' bingo! Iraqi crude beholden to Noco, an obligate, Iraq's elected benchmark bleeders cannot mete without getting their throats slit on the way home from the vote.

The Iraqis despise our Bush and Cheney as much as you do! Thanks to our president, "Little Bush," 97% of the world's opium, grown in Afghanistan, is cooked into cheap heroin on the farm for a blossoming trade that primarily funds al Qaeda, the drug deals coursing from Pakistan to Lebanon's hashish alleys, throughout Russia, all of Europe, and from Mexico, into USA. Every time you hear of a suicide bomber rash, the bomber's family cut came from sales of heroin cached.

Thousands have died since Bush proclaimed, "Mission Accomplished," and thousands more have followed are following them. The end of our mayhem in Iraq won't come into view until "Little Bush" is plucked from our office, and we are rid of him.

That is why, upon the oath of office I am going to order Bush's whole family clan off the platform. I owe that much to the American people, to the overwhelming majority of Americans who despise them.

I volunteer my talent, a giant blessing from G-d, to appear on Iraqi TV hours every day, to save lives, especially lives of our guys and all of the innocent Iraqis, preaching the coming world peace, establishing in the Iraqi collective mind, and throughout their region, that I am a Holy man, an Imam with the plan to divide up turf on planet urf, and settle all disputes between countries and peoples. I can calm the Iraqis, whether I am US president or private prophet, waiting my turn to take the oath of our highest office.

What I can do is beneath the self-imagined kingly Bush. The warmonger Bush preaches a surge; more troops, more killing. Congress' and the candidate's call for an exit date will also increase murders. Bush's ribbon shirts, military bureaucrats, show allegiance to Bush's world-view, not us.

I will appear with the press, on television with my oldest cat, Oliver Kitty on the set. Regardless how I pick up Oliver for a tickle, he will position himself, his front paws draped over my arm, back legs stretched regal. The fascist in the newsroom blows his stack: "This guy wants to be on TV with his cat?" Yet the mid-east scholar is floored; realizing Mohammad, Allah's prophet kept cats and had his favorite, which all of the tribes, over the whole Middle East will smile in their hearts and woof about. Seeing me on television, telling my vision, with my favorite cat possibly in view will affect all the followers of Mohammad throughout the Middle East!

The choice for America could not be made more clear: beltway blabberific fears, with smoke and mirrors, or poet prophet cosmic wrapper, resurfaced to quell evil, via powwow.

When me and my Iraqi strategy are public knowledge, and we hold a meet with no holds barred, know in advance, I plan to refocus the whole Middle East, at middle speech, focus on CNN's international cam, and sing a Hebrew hymn, slowly turning an ancient Hebrew hymn into an Arabic hymn, and then, with every eyeball calmed whirled wide, all of the people glued to their televisions, I will, in two minutes flat, solve one of the stickier Middle East prob limbs, a neighborhood issue for them. Might we play a dry run in America first so the American people can get behind me?

The Scripture for peace in the Middle East was carefully written down in 1970, c. 1971. It includes a single line from the Pentateuch, the clarion call for World Peace. Iamb it ha pens the only man on the planet who has the authority to sing the clarion Hebrew call for World Peace, written down for all man kind by Moses the Teacher, centuries ago.

You don't have to like it, but that is the deal.

We either refocus our selves in Iraq, on democracy and commerce for their own sakes, or pull up stakes! Americans, whether in or out of uniform are death squad targets, as I, on Hoover's original list, am FBI's most potent, oldest target. Luckily, J. Edgar's group is squad less, their fascist itch, gone since Ruby Ridge, and now, after decades, arrived on the set is Hoover's Jew. See The New York Slimes' archive; Enter, "jacklegs jumping up." The Dowd will pop up. Read Maureen Dowd!. Bush's blurt was an accidental, out loud calling for the Hoover group to begin their screw.

The Iraqi people might embrace our tried and tested methods where everyone's rights are protected and all religions are equal under the rule of law! Our own Constitution, in place, could bring about closure to the Iraqis' internecine fighting, leaving only Saddam's Baathists, and al Qaeda's sponsored terrorists for the Iraqi tribal militias to deal with, without us.

We should be going over our constitution for the Iraqis line by line on television all day long; I'm ready to do it, and in their newspapers, too, so Iraq's people adapt our constitution as their own. Unless we win the peace, the war was completely a waste, all those lives wasted for Bush's vanity, but to win we need some innovation, beyond our constitution, with forty thousand more of our own people doing their part, some good in Iraq, or we can't pull out.

Those going over should be civilians, not soldiers in uniform! It's time the American people are embedded with the Iraqis, key to our success in ending this war with honor! We need to deliver our constitution to every village, pass out translated copies with a hand shake, and help establish democracy in Iraq, from the bottom up, which is the way democracy has always started up, contrary to Bush's style of doing business, top down above us, and to do it right, to win, we need the right truck.

In order to leave Iraq in peace, our victory, we must supplement our troops with 40,000 citizen ambassadors. President Bush must order an independent retrofitting of ten thousand off road trucks that today gather dust at our dealerships, with volunteer ambassadors from every state aboard, in forty vehicle teams. Christen our trucks, The Scorpion Brigades, with license plates from every state, and Onstar hooked up, so we, the people over here, are over there, too. F-150's, Sierras, Toyota Tundras and Silverados are made for the desert job. I can hear the announcer's voice proclaiming, "like Iraq!"

In my administration this dangerous civilian volunteer mission will pay minimum $28 an hour with double time for overtime, including life insurance paid by Uncle Sam. The president must instruct our potential citizen ambassadors to go to their favorite dealerships and register for emergency service. His ignoring this is our reason to immediately begin "Little Bush's" impeachment! Volunteers! It is required you bring your own assault rifles with cases of ammo, too; and not be afraid to pull the trigger with a person in the crosshairs, or you can't make the trip. In Iraq kill al Qaeda or be killed.

The "I" in the acronym IED, precedes the "E" for Explosive. "D" is for Device. "I" they say, is for Improvised, but we are the true innovators, not Bush's acro-bureaucrats. Commonest of sense, our "can-do" spirit dictates the take out menu for off-road, retrofit embedding. Coat trucks desert cream, especially the chrome; uniformly splotch beige; rig grills with cast iron shields to protect motors, also splotch; beef suspensions; enlarge gas tanks; add Mobile One to crank with charcoal dip filters of air conditioning. Fasten compasses to dash. Reupholster camper tops with police grade Kevlar and Dragon Skin, same stuff in door panels. Using junkyard iron, plate truck undersides and doors. Be nimble enough to squeeze through an oversize sunroof or stay home and dream.

Include the best dash-bracketed 40 band CB's and high powered binoculars, with police radar guns, too, distance calibrated, so when our Scorpion Brigades dash around the desert floor in 40 tooth combs we mean any suspicious Iraqis rolling, or foreign Jihads going home, stopping to plant a road-side bomb, and then rolling on, are guaranteed their surface-to-surface laser-guided ticket.

Load cases of bottled water, freeze-dried everything, and microwaves, with delicious ready-to-eat stuff bought local, off the neighborhood retail shelf.

Every mission critical democracy truck flown over should include a digital camcorder and laptops with wireless Internet access, so we can see what is up with our citizen volunteers. The camper tops need tow missile brackets, so over night, trained civilian gunners can sit their tails on the spare tires to fire. Every quad cab has to have 50 caliber machine gun brackets on their roof, so when the need arises, whoever rides shotgun on the border can ride standing upright in the sunroof, and stinger a crossing suicide bomber, besides the foreign interlopers going home on leave, who need their tires blown out in their tracks, in the middle of nowhere, then swatted like flies.

A real president would speak to us and give the order. C5-A Constellations should be flying from city to city, loading trucks bumper-to-bumper with crews aboard, tailgate parties scheduled to be held on the desert floor. Bush's refusal to budge is a major reason to throw him out! Bush cannot be allowed to sacrifice any more of our precious kids in a guerrilla gun battle that refuses to finish, that guaranteed, without these above described, retrofit, quad-cab 4-wheel drive, off-road trucks in the Iraqi mix.

The genuine threat of impeachment could motivate his wife to read her Bush our riot act. The wimp must surely realize the more our troops are wounded or killed, the less likely republicans will hold any offices, shown by the mid-term elections of 2006. When this was first written down, before FBI came knocking on my door with my email to newspaper editors in hand, Americans killed in Iraq numbered 650 and counting. 4000 were reported as wounded, politic-speak for body parts sheared off, and 13,000 casualties. What qualifies the label: casualty?

Ten thousand trucks, four civilian ambassadors in each, is the minima required to establish a foundation for Iraqi democracy and peace. As long as Bin Laden sends volunteers to al Qeada in Iraq, why can't we be sending over volunteers?

Besides visiting every country hamlet and town, to make friends, assess needs and begin a grass roots, people to people Marshall Plan; in groups of forty, with cells and CB radios, our Scorpion Brigades will seal, in and out, all of Iraq's borders, guarding the oil pipe lines, too, while watching all the highways and byways leading to Mosul, the Qaeda stronghold, in quartets and pairs, parked off-road a few miles apart, their CB's and cop-car radar guns, powered to mark insurgents that pull off road to plant explosives, along with their human detonators, left back to trigger their remotes from behind the nearest berm.

Our spotters can CB down the two-lanes which car needs disabling, etc., then proceed to take out the sucker left there to blow us up. The Scorpion Brigades on guard will nail each and every insurgent they encounter especially by the border, enabling us to secure Iraq at large.

The Scorpion Brigades, ten thousand trucks strong, will binocular every checkpoint, neutering that issue. The Jihad insurgency pays its own way, smuggling oil they cash out every day in Jordan and Syria. We will "ticket" the tankers long before they pull up to the Iraqi border.

Insurgency is a full time occupation. But insurgents have to eat. When we own the length of all the borders with our Scorpion Brigades, the continuous feed of recycled terrorists from around the Middle East will be canceled, as will their means of finance, which are smuggled goods.

10,000 quad-cabs, four people strong in each, ought to be enough to control all of Iraq's borders, visit every hamlet and town, and also own the roads leading to the outskirts of the al Qaeda controlled towns and cities.

We want the Iraqi parents to let us bring back 50 thousand of their kids to America with us, to live in America and go to our schools, for a couple years anyway, so the kids are safe from flaring violence in Iraq, and learning democracy here. This kid exchange, for the Iraqis, goes with Congress awarding Iraq favored nation status, so our citizen quad cab ambassadors can palaver ready deals in every village we visit for all their figs, nuts and dates, packed on the spot for export, in exchange for American cash over the Iraqi barrelhead.

I seek the nomination of both political parties, so we present to the world a united face, the first step toward my coming natch a rill that will suffice as world peace, beginning with a peaceful night, when all the world's peoples will be doing the same thing at the same time: watching my whirled wide sprechen on TV. I promise in advance, to spout a delicate sensible, mull tie ling well rhyme, in every line, so all on the planet, our good ship mother earth, feel they are participants.

I trump all the candidates because I have the words for all man kind. I am going to say these words for all man kind, live, on world wide television, or you are going to lose your good life on this planet. Knot my fault! First comes World Peace. Then as a world we will solve the man made global warming. That is the order of world events.

Regardless your party affiliation, my Iraq Exit Strategy is a viable way to stage a military draw down and get out without a debacle. Unless we seal Iraq's borders first, when the date certain for leaving is public, and we begin a pull out, al Qaeda cells from surrounding Arabic lands will send recruits to practice bag an American, the Bush legacy: our patriots body bagged, but beheaded, their missing heads lined on the roadside, heads as melons, wired to a scarecrow stake, dead eyes on a roll, haunting our troops on their way to the airport, remotely blown. Osama Bin Laden's barbaric message will reign throughout. We cannot allow it.

Nor can we stall Iraqi civil war or talk them down absent my program. The above, my end war strategy isn't a game. Dumpster Bush-Cheney and their plan for "privatizing" Iraq's oil. Impeach them. Let Iraqis be in charge of their own oil and country. With 50 thousand Iraqi kids in America, going to school, Iraq will become our very firm ally, a bastion of western styled democracy, a model for all the Iranian and Syrian and Palestinian kids to follow.

You have a choice: world peace or smoke and mirrors.

Michael Stephen Levinson