8 Solid Reasons Why "I" Will Never Visit The White House

Don't ask me what happened. For I don't know. I awoke this morning, February 21, at 6 a.m. (cst), got out of bed, poured myself a cup of fresh "Eight O'Clock" coffee and sat down on my couch to read my daily Bible verses. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. I thought it was to be just another day in the obscure life of yours truly, Kenneth Avery, of Hamilton, Alabama.

And I was right. I finished my breakfast, a delicious Lender's bagel with cream cheese, poured myself another cup of "Eight O' Clock" coffee and watched a Bible teacher on my DirecTV system whose name was Lester Sumrall. He was a nice man. Then I fell asleep. No offense to Sumrall. Or DirecTV.

Then I awoke. Again. And headed for my workroom where I have my DELL PC. I sat down to boot-up my computer, and before I realized what was going on, it hit me. And I mean hit me harder than Clay Matthews, vicious defensive end for the Green Bay Packers. That is hard, my friends. My ears rang for about five minutes. I almost called our local 9-1-1, but the ringing in my ears stopped along with my racing heart. I was okay. Thank God.

From what I could gather, I was the victim of a mini-panic attack. Those are rough, friends. If you never had a panic attack, count yourself blessed. And the reason I panicked was not of anything important. Hey, when I hit the hay tonight, I will have already forgotten this episode. But knowing how my mind works, I may just dream about why I almost freaked-out in my workroom. All by myself. What a lonely existence. Having a near-serious panic attack with no one to say, "Kenneth, will you live? Can I have your vinyl albums if you die?" That is lonely, my friends.

Now for the reason I had a panic attack: I suddenly realized today, February 21, 2012, that "I" will NEVER, (that means not a chance) get to visit our nation's capitol in Washington, D.C., and get to meet our nation's president (Obama or whomever is president at the time) and tour our nation's most-prestigious landmark. This is a serious revelation, my friends who can relate to my sad awakening.

I just cannot understand this. I've been a loyal citizen of the United States for 58 years. Filed my taxes regularly. Tried to obey our civil laws. And for the most part, lived a quiet and peaceful life among my neighbors--never doing anything to draw attention to myself. Well except for that one time I wrecked (accidentally) my brother-in-law Tim's new Suzuki dirt bike. The neighbors first gasped in horror as I crossed the road in front of his house doing a "wheelie" and then hee-hawed in laughter as I crashed to earth underneath a fence belonging to a good neighbor, John Tuck. No, State Farm was not there. But that is all I can think of that would make anyone believe that I've not led mostly a quiet and uneventful life here in Hamilton, Alabama.

So after my panic attack disappeared, I poured myself another cup of "Eight O'Clock" coffee and sat down in my living room and began to do some serious soul-searching. Some tough thinking. Both are equal to a day of hard labor to me. But after a few hours of searching myself for any and all possibilities of why "I" will never visit the White House, I poured myself the last cup (in my coffeemaker) of "Eight O'Clock" coffee and started to write this hub. This really sad and heart-wrenching hub of sadness. Pain. And personal defeat. A hub entitled . . .

"8 Solid Reasons Why "I" Will Never Visit The White House" . . .

REASON NUMBER 8

I am an unknown to the powers-that-be who run the White House. Oh I know that the I.R.S., probably the F.B.I and maybe the C.I.A. know all my pertinant information, but as for knowing me on a first-name basis, no way. I can prove it. During the last budget crisis, I called the White House "800" number, (available on Google), and a man answered. It wasn't Mr. Obama. I asked if I may speak with the president. He sharply replied, "who is this?" I politely told him my name and address. I wasn't ashamed of who I was. He told me that I could sent the president an email and it would be read by Obama. I asked if he wanted my address and phone number to which he sharply replied. Again, "no. That's okay." And hung up. This is why "I" will never see the inside of the White House. But if "I" were important. Say someone like Jerry Seinfeld, David Letterman, or Nick Saban, head coach of the NCAA BCS National Champions, The Alabama Crimson Tide, I might get in to see the White House. But not as myself. This is a sad day for yours truly. I am now spiralling down in deep depression.

REASON NUMBER 7

Clothes. I do not own any clothes that are swanky or flashy enough to have anyone of such high station as the president of the United States or his lovely wife, see me in public. I am a walking "fashion embarrassment". I am not telling a lie. I am not ashamed of my rural clothes, it's just that I do not have funds to buy what important people wear when they visit the White House. And I think it inappropriate to ask anyone for the money to buy a new suit of clothes to wear one time to walk around in the White House. I have my pride to think of.

REASON NUMBER 6

My speech. And diction. If you ever talk to me on the phone. Or in-person, it won't take you very long to realize that the way I talk is definitely a handicap by way of getting to see the White House. Mr. Obama and his Secret Service agents do not have time to listen to someone from rural northwest Alabama say things like, "gosh, Mr. Obama, this is surely a hum-dinger of an office you have here," or "gosh almighty, what a big door that is," they are used to people from all over the United States and Europe with high IQ's, Ph.d's, Masters of Education and Doctors of Medical Science who have graduated from honored institutions as Harvard, Brown University, Cambridge University, M.I.T. and The University of Alabama who can "talk the talk" with Mr. Obama, who by the way is an eloquent, well-educated man. No way in purgatory that my way of talking will ever get me invited to shake hands with our president. Whomever that may be after November 2012.

REASON NUMBER 5

my geographic location. No one, in my county's existence, has ever toured the White House. Marion County is two and half hours west of Birmingham, home of former Secretary of State Condaleeza Rice, but no one from Marion County, my home county, has never set one foot in the White House. And there is a sad reason: Marion County has not produced any Nobel Peace Prize winners; Pulitzer Prize winners; Man of The Year; Woman of The Year or anyone with an idea that would benefit the United States and the world by way of medicine, education or entertainment. Sunk again. Here in rural northwest Alabama. A dismal place if you are me.

REASON NUMBER 4

my vocation. None. But not by choice. In 2003, I became disabled. But even if I hadn't become disabled, there is no way that someone like me who worked for 23 years in the newspaper industry would ever see the White House up-close. But, if I had been a talented singer or songwriter such as Stevie Wonder, Bono of U2, or rap idol, Snoop Dogg, my ticket would be punched. I would be at the White House so much people would think that I lived there. But with my former vocation, no way in creation. I am not going to even try anymore to get myself invited to the White House.

REASON NUMBER 3

President and Mrs. Obama do not know that Kenneth Avery exists. To them I am like you, only a number in the Social Security and I.R.S. data systems. Face it. People like you and I are not "White House Visit" material and all the years I thought that any American or European citizen who had been cleared by Homeland Security could visit the White House and be greeted with genuine friendliness. Was I stupid or what? Even with my email I sent Mr. Obama with my honest views on the national budget, I still didn't get invited. I give up.

REASON NUMBER 2

My wife. I won't use her name because she made me swear to never use her name or else. And I've been on the other end of that "else" many times, so I will just say my wife. I married a woman who is not famous, an Ivy League grad, or singing star. She is as common as me, but of a more-humble heart. She doesn't like attention. She does her thing at being a department manager at our local Walmart Super Center in Hamilton, Alabama. I am proud of her and the life she has lived. But if I had, say, married a hot babe like Jessica Alba of "Dark Angel," and "The Fantastic Four," well, Obama would be flooding my mailbox with personal invitations. But what have my wife and I done for our country besides pay taxes and not protest against anything the federal government has in the past, not much. I guess that is why we might as well be content with our obscure status and give up on visiting the White House.

REASON NUMBER 1

I can guess with solid confidence that the number one reason "why 'I' Will Never Visit The White House," is: I do not especially care for the NFL's Chicago Bears. Now don't get angry with me. I love their head coach, Lovie Smith. And in the day, Gale Sayers and Dick Butkus, but after they left, the Bears lost something: MANY GAMES. And since President Obama hails from Chicago, Illinois, he knows my loyalty (thanks to secret background checks) to the Green Bay Packers and Adrian Rodgers.

But all is not lost. I know of a sure-fire way of getting to see (some) of the White House. The Oval Office and President Obama too . . .

I simply phone up the White House's 800 number and make harmless threats against Obama and hang up. Within hours, I will get a FREE escort in an unmarked limousine to meet with Secret Service, F.B.I. and Homeland Security agents. And Mr. Obama too.

They will take pleasure in asking me many questions. Many of which I can answer too. Oh what a day that might be. I would be on the CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN and Headline News that evening for my friends and family to see. I would even wave at them.

But now that I think it over . . .

President Obama is a pretty decent guy. I wouldn't want to cause him any unwanted stress now that he is running for re-election. That's a stress-builder for sure.

Maybe if I voted for him . . .reckon that would help?