Recently a sharp-eyed reader pointed out that I have been offensively liberal with the word "poop." After an intense soul-searching and in deference to this gentleman's genteel taste and obvious refinement, I have decided that in once and future columns I will disguise the word by spelling it backwards.

I'm writing this with a presidential candidate sitting on my shoulder. His name is Buddy and he is of African descent, originally from the West African nation of Senegal, although his ancestors have been U.S. citizens for several nestings . . . er, make that years. After you know him, you'll admit there's no other candidate better suited to poop on the parade of the rest of the hopefuls. Hillary, Barack, get out your umbrellas, the race is on.

The Presidential contender on my shoulder has asked me to use the mighty platform of the Manifest to announce his intention to run for the presidency. At first you might think it would be silly to have an African Grey parrot as the leader of the free world, but if you consider where we are today, it makes a bit more sense.

Think about it. He's a birdbrain, speaking the language of the common Congressman. His enunciation is great and he can say "Hello" in more than thirty obnoxious accents. He's willing to peck babies on the cheek all day long. He's single, good with chicks and keeps his beak clean. No chickadee scandals in his past, he's promised there'll be no Monica Flewinski in his oval cage.

There are advantages to having a nudist for president. No clothes, no blue dress. No clothing also means that there are no closets in which to hide skeletons. The guy's an insider, literally. He promises to work on every branch of government and at five-and-a-quarter ounces, he can slip in and out of lobbyists' pockets with ease.

He's no booby. I've never heard him grouse about the loons and dodos in office and he's charming and quite handsome in his muted grey suit with red tails. He can sleep perched upright with his eyes wide open, a distinct advantage for a politician. The voters should flock to him. He's a pollyanna, not a bit like the Beltway vultures.

His chances are nothing to crow about but if he should land in the catbird's seat, he wouldn't quail about taking on either the hawks or the doves in the House. He'll work for chickenfeed and promises not to use the power to feather his own nest. He's smart enough not to put all our eggs into one basket. He's as wise as an owl, planning to goose the economy into new heights. It'll be easy for him to bird dog the budget from the crow's nest.

"This is no lark," he chirped, "I'll never become a yard bird or a lame duck." It may seem a little gooney and stick in some people's craw, but he plans to run as Independent, not wanting to wear party affiliation like an albatross around his neck. Another big plus is that Air Force One costs the American public sixty thousand dollars an hour. Air Buddy One costs nothing, literally running on peanuts.

Buddy would be the first African American to attain the highest office in the land. He took a gander at Article II, Section one, of the Constitution of the United States, which says that the president must be a natural born Citizen who has attained the Age of thirty-five Years. Now Buddy was born in a Denver pet shop twenty years ago, making him forty in parrot-years. No doubt there are some vultures who would cry fowl about this, however, even if those gutter snipes could be quieted, there still remains how to overcome the line in the inauguration ceremony that says, "Please raise your right hand." If that could be changed to, "Please raise your right wing," everything would be okay. Raise the right wing? America's been doing that for years.

He'd never pick a Sparrow Agnew or a Dan Quayle, but might consider some political fledgling like Larry Bird for his VP running mate. He expects no problem scratching out his own agenda, and promises to establish the pecking order. I can see him now, opening the first session of Congress with the invocation:

"Let Osprey . . ."