Welcome to life at Notre Dame! Our campus is the home, sweet home of tradition, Abercrombie-clad boys and girls and perfectly manicured lawns. The cookie cutter status of our campus has been magnified by the recent Student Body president elections. With six tickets presenting relatively serious and realistic platforms, the student body has been deprived of the normal chuckles conjured by farcical candidacies.

One noticeable change this time around was a ballot devoid of our annual circus of Zahm guys. No debates featured "Star Wars" characters or grandiose ideas of monkeys serving fruit from banana trees in SDH. Nor did any candidate propose the removal of the standard Notre Dame icon in favor of a green smiley face. However, with the lack of humorous platforms this year, the student body thirst for tacky politics and bizarre antics has remained unquenched.

To extinguish that burning desire for filth and gore we offer the following historical tidbits of our own student body government. We also present the disclaimer that this account is based on true characters. No names have been altered and no comedic value has been distorted.

Perhaps our student body history of election fiascos dates back to 1970 when Magnesium B. Wheels and Woody ran for the prestigious offices of president and vice president. The March 6 issue of The Observer that year reported this campaign's promises as including "a pickle in every bag." Furthermore, Wheels planned "to plant as much grass as possible" to remedy the bare splotches on the quads.

Notre Dame has also hosted neurotics promising to kill the evil mother swan, while claiming control of the sun. We have not had any shortage of those candidates making a mockery of the student debates. Reportedly, some candidates have declined to speak while at the debates. Others have spoken in different languages in the limelight of the moment; one person read biblical passages and another played guitar and made up clever rhymes

Fellow Dead Heads may appreciate the stylings of David Hungeling and Matt Orsagh, who ran with the platform of dissolving the student government office. The most important feature of the Hungeling/Orsagh ticket, though, was to bring the almighty and infamous Grateful Dead to "the Bubble." Other objectives of the '95 alums included free football tickets for students, getting rid of any events not deemed fun and downsizing of government office phones to two lines — one for incoming student calls and one for outgoing calls for purposes of harassment toward the campus administration.

Although contact with the Dead's publicist was confirmed, the band declined the University's request for a performance because no venue in the South Bend area was adequate for the rock demi-gods.

Hungeling reports one of the proudest moments of his administration as being the day he took office. Despite the grandeur and fame of the presidency, Hungeling felt honored that an assassination attempt was made on his life at the open house he sponsored on the day of the turnover.

Performing in ring two of the circus known as student government are the Crayola Kids. Named for their unique advertising method, Mike Switek and Don Montanaro communicated their campaign platform of renaming "macaroni and cheese" to "cheese and macaroni" on loose-leaf paper scribbled with scrawling crayon. Switek pinpointed the main issue for students when he said, "We wonder sometimes — would a true Hungarian eat Hungarian Noodle Bake?"

Last year, Darth George and Darth Todd invaded the campus with ideas of dissolving the Senate and restoring peace. Another tactic for preserving the miniature galaxy known as Notre Dame involved instigating new types of punishment like carbon freezing. Yet, their ideas of molding the student government into a mind controlling state do not win this article's Outstanding Freakish Feat Award.

That title belongs to (drum roll, please) Robert Calhoun Kersten, aka Campus King. Robed in classic regal garb complete with crown, the reign of Campus King began in 1972 from atop a commode in the second stall of the Walsh Hall fourth floor lavatory, which is apparently where the king felt democracy belonged.

Kersten wanted to replace the student government with "an oligarchy consisting of myself and my close friends." The king also informed his peers that he would sponsor "a takeover of The Observer in order to insure the paper and the president will see eye-to-eye on all issues."

Despite his despotic tendencies, the presidential hopeful was careful not to neglect the important issues in his campaign. To diversify the student body, Campus King proposed the recruitment of Yanamamo Indians from Southern Brazil. Kersten also suggested "really swell activities such as over-the-hump dances on Sunday mornings … and negotiation for a Rocka-Rocka discotheque franchise on campus."

King also wanted to clean up the campus by remodeling the Old Fieldhouse into a crematorium to "eliminate the problem of displaced students." Another remodeling technique Kersten proposed intended to control faculty tenure was the formation of a Committee for Redundancy Committee.

Kersten derived his qualifying experience for the office from his brief stint as the alternate seventh grade homeroom representative. Yet, Kersten's running mate only offered "meow!" as her curriculum vitae.

Uncandidate, the Cat, was deemed an ineligible running mate, despite producing a University of Notre Dame Student ID. This contention to the grand poobah's candidacy was levied after a failed attempt to kidnap the candidates. Although Kersten was successfully kidnapped and freed for a ransom of 27 cents, Uncandidate the Cat "eluded capture by quickly barricading himself in the second stall of the third floor [Keenan] john."

Despite the setback and a quest for a new vice president, Kersten remained steadfast in his pursuit for the throne.

Divine intervention later prompted Bob "King" Kersten "to get yourself the hell out [from the presidential race]" after winning the primary election. Kersten delivered his withdrawal speech from a dorm balcony, addressing an audience of 1300 students at 4 a.m.

Despite his self-removal, Kersten used his leadership power and assured the students, "God has agreed to extend July by two weeks."

Direct communication with "the Man" upstairs obviously paid off as evidenced by Kersten's popularity in the polls regardless of his withdrawal from the race. The Prime Mover, as he referred to himself, successfully garnered 65 percent of the vote. After being elected, His Highness made "definitely tentative plans" including a coronation in Sacred Heart Church and an Inaugural Ball in LaFortune.

The invitation sent to the event read:

"By Royal Decree your personage and consort are summoned to The Coronation and Inaugural Ball of his Divine Majesty, Ruler of both Seas, Lord Protector of the Illiterate Rabble, Speaker of the Ultimate Truth, Defender of the Faith, Lion of Judea, Son of David, Lord of the Flies, Imperial Wizard, First Violin, Lord of the Rings, Sergeant of the Shire, Thane of Cawdor, Celestial Interpreter, Dweller of the Blessed Realm, The Grey Pilgrim, the Ultimate Prime Mover, R. Calhoun Kersten, paramour of Yahweh on the seventh day of April, nineteen hundred and seventy-two in the year of our Lord. The Coronation will commence at the hour of seven on the steps of the Golden Tabernacle."

After his official inauguration, Kersten faced his share of skeptics while in office. In response to then-Director of Campus Ministry Father William Toohey's request to see the King walk on water, Bob Kersten walked across St. Joe's Lake and evidence of this feat was featured in the March 17, 1972 issue of this paper.

After walking on water, Campus King declared a period of martial law to transition into his newly elected position. Later, the King auctioned off the spot of vice president for a quarter after Uncandidate the Cat refused to accept her crown at the coronation.

Later Kersten reneged on the deal and appointed the cat to president after his own abdication of the position in May. Following the pattern of his up and down reign, Campus King's governmental career did not end with his resignation. A lack of interest in the presidential election the following year resulted in the re-election of the Campus King, even though he was not a running candidate. He urged the student body, apathetic towards all candidates, to vote blank ballots. The election resulted in an overwhelming 52 percent of abstentions, calling the King into his second term.

The sort of hoopla observed in the Campus King story and previous student government races may have seen the last of its days due to the increase of student signatures on the petition to run. Judicial Council's tight control of the past election prevented any tampering with results. Yet, the same prevention has also curbed the joke factor commonly associated with the student body presidential elections. Fear not — all hope has not faded.

Keough Rector Father Thomas Doyle presided over the student body government in 1988-1989. He cited the reason for the periodically quirky term-holders being elected as "most people chosen as president are someone that has been in student government for awhile, but about once every four years people get thinking that they would like to have people from the outside."

The former president offered his own theory after saying that some people get too serious about the position to which they are elected. According to this theory, we may have more shenanigans to look forward to next year.

Thank God and the Prime Mover we have some more political excitement to on its way!

• The humorous history of student government