Charles Rangel, Man of Action: Reelection Bid

On Sunday I kicked off my campaign for re-election. There are some members of my party who don’t want me to run, and will do anything to stop me.

I will find them and kill them in their sleep.

Anyway, before a new campaign starts I always like to have a light breakfast at a little diner in the West Village. They named a breakfast after me, The Charlie Rangel platter: 6 raw eggs, 4 fried chickens, and a half a loaf of toast.

I like chicken, Imus.

I heard you buried yours. Bitten by a rattlesnake huh? A rattler bit me once. After five excruciating days the little bastard finally died. I didn’t bury it. I ate it. You know what it tasted like? Chicken.

So I’m buttering my toast when I notice a waiter dressed as a samurai tossing a salad in the corner. Ordinarily a waiter tossing a salad in a West Village diner wouldn’t stand out at all, even one dressed as a samurai. But this guy seemed familiar.

He says, “The party wants you to retire and they sent me, Yoshi Yamaguchi ” I knew it.  Yamaguchi, “The Gay Blade." They called him that because he’d happily sing while he killed you. It’s a horrible death; dying to the sound of "Oooooklahoma," sung out of tune.

He draws his samurai sword. He shouldn’t have done that. He just signed his death warrant. As you know Imus, I’m a baaaad man. I iron my shirts while I’m wearing them. I’m a one -man army. There’s no “I” in Rangel but there is a rage. I scissor kicked my butter knife into Yamaguchi’s forehead.

The diner has a new menu item; Samurai on a stick.

Silly Dems, sending a Samurai to a Charlie Rangel fight.