There’s a up-and-coming political star that is making waves on the local level, 5-year-old Jerry Manders from Chicago, Illinois, has been identified as a lying prodigy with a skill set so advanced that he is already being hailed as a future star in American politics.
“Yes, I did my homework last night,” Jerry fibbed to his kindergarten teacher earlier this week, not knowing that this precise moment would set him on a path to future public office. Jerry, who had instead spent the prior evening watching toy unboxing videos, showcased a remarkable aptitude for deflecting blame, disarming his opponents with confusing rhetoric, and a natural talent for lying constantly—all foundational skills in the political arena.
“I can see him now: filibustering in the Senate, dodging difficult questions from reporters, fudging the facts just right to maintain a base of loyal supporters. Oh, the boy’s got potential,” beamed Vince Veto, a political science professor at Georgetown University.
While some parents might frown upon their children lying, Jerry’s parents are confident their son is on a fast track to an elected position.
“Sure, he’s never follows through with anything he promises and he convinced his sister she was adopted,” said mother Karen Manders. “But you have to admire his skill in wrapping an entire room around his little finger. His ability to lie convincingly about even the smallest things—like denying he ate the last cookie despite chocolate smeared all over his face—is truly impressive.”
Political insiders claim Jerry’s uncanny ability to mix fact with fiction, his brazen self-confidence, and his knack for shifting narratives to suit his needs make him the perfect candidate for at least a state senator.
“With skills like these, he could easily serve in a home owners association by ten,” commented Tina Turnout, a veteran political consultant. “I’d hire him, but unfortunately, his bed time is 8PM and that’s when debates are held. Plus, he still has poop accidents from time to time”
Public relations experts are already marveling at Jerry’s advanced grasp of spinning the truth. “This kid could teach a masterclass,” said Peter Pander, an experienced speech writer. “He has negotiated his bedtime so many times he goes to bed later than his parents. That’s the kind of tenacity that can get a bill pushed through congress.”
Despite the hype, critics are concerned that Jerry’s prodigious skills could be employed for less noble pursuits.
“We need to guide this child carefully,” warned Dr. Phil Simmons, a child psychologist. “We have to make sure he doesn’t veer off into other deceitful professions—like being a cult leader or, heaven forbid, a used car salesman.”
For now, Jerry remains oblivious to his sudden fame, content to manipulate the household power dynamics to score an extra juice box or two. But in the ever-churning machine of American politics, his name is already whispered as the next big thing.
As for Jerry, when asked what he wants to be when he grows up, he glanced up from his legal pad, smirked, and said, “President of the Universe. And I didn’t break Dad’s tablet; it was like that when I found it.”
