Greetings, meek humans of California! It is I, Arnold, the Austrian Oak, your future governor. You will have no other governors before me! I decree it. It is done. Disobey me, and I will smite you into fine powder with my bear-claw fists. I will chew you up in my powerful jaws and swallow you, where you will be digested along with the remnants of Coleman and Flynt and Flynt’s wheelchair. Then I will smoke a Cuba cigar, and make sweet love to my beautiful Kennedy wife. Then I will smoke another cigar. I may belch loudly. Sometimes all the lovemaking makes me dyspeptic.
You probably think Arnold, your governor, is nicht but catchphrases: “Pump you up,” and “Hasta la vista, Gray Davis,” and “I’ll be back,” and “It’s not a tumor,” and other funny words from my super blockbuster smash-hit motion-picture movies. But Arnold, your governor, is more than that. Did you know I was Chairman of Papa George Bush the First’s Council of Physical Fitness? That’s right, Arnold is perfect specimen of human body. I am Mr. Universe and Hercules and the Hulk, all in one. Did you know I was a restaurateur? That is right, I was costar-president of Planet Hollywood smash-hit eating franchise until Planet Hollywood started to stink like Stallone, and then I sold Planet Hollywood for many millions of dollars and put Stallone in burlap bag and throw burlap bag over Golden Gate Bridge. Splash! Ha, ha, ha. Arnold hates Stallone. Did you know I once fought a horse and won? That is right, Arnold punched silly horse in face and horse fall down. I ate the horse mit some barbecue sauce. It was very tasty! I belched loudly, because horsemeat makes me dyspeptic, too.
Horses is not all Arnold, your mighty governor, can beat up. One time, I beat up a locomotive steam-engine choo-choo train. It was coming at me full speed, and I punched it in the face. Train fall down. I did not eat the train, stupid! Trains cannot be eaten unless you have a metal mouth mit metal teeth! Stupid.
All this gubernatorial talk makes Arnold sleepy. Arnold needs to eat some raw meat, make sweaty love to beautiful Kennedy wife, smoke a Cuba cigar, and pass out in a bed full of money. But first, I must clear up some big fat lies that my big fat lying enemies have been telling to you simple California humans: Do not believe the big fat lies that my enemies are telling about Papa being a Nazi-man! Papa was not a Nazi-man, or even good friend and supporter of Nazi party! Papa was a peaceful man from the Black Forest of Bavaria who loved eating bratwurst, singing praise of Odin the All-father, and raising his cattle and his super-human hulking son. Papa could not be a Nazi, because Nazis were bad guys, and I fight bad guys in my smash-hit blockbuster motion-picture movies! If Papa were a Nazi, I would like bad guys. But, clearly, I hate bad guys and Nazis. I fought Nazi spies in my movie True Lies and I fought Nazi robots in my Terminator movies and I fought Nazi space aliens in my Predator movie (with my super-governor best-friend movie-star WWWF wrestler buddy, Jesse “the Body” Ventura). And all those movies grossed more money than any of you will ever see in your terrible little lives. So remember: nobody is a Nazi, and vote for Arnold Alois Schwarzenegger, the Austrian Oak, or I will smite you. Yes, Alois. Good night.