I was amongst the mass crowds that drove, biked, and sloshed their way through the snow to last week’s Democratic Caucus. It was held in a barn at the Douglas County Fairgrounds, a location that certainly lends itself to the sinking feeling of voter disenfranchisement. Cows were feasibly standing there hours earlier, herded this way and that. Now there were only Hillary cows and Obama cows, and a gaggle of Edwards/Kucinich/Gravel sheep. That’s when I knew I needed to save America.

Today, I’m starting a new campaign, a campaign that addresses the concerns of the median KU student and the tie that binds us all—partying. How come candidates never devote meaningful time to this issue? For instance, which drinking game does Barack Obama endorse? What’s Hillary’s favorite dive bar in Brooklyn?

No, despite the clamors of the now-huddling masses, I do not plan to run for president on this resilient platform—yet. I’d like to unleash a plan that will live on as a sterling commemoration of our college years.

Corey Delaney. Perhaps you have heard of him. For the uninitiated, Corey Delaney was the young Australian who threw a party at his parents’ house while they were on “holiday.” Nothing special, right? Wrong. That party grew into a 500-person bonanza, a gathering so rowdy that several police cars were damaged and local authorities sent in the dog squad. If the Australian media had merely looked the other way, and stifled any rogue thoughts of “hey, we should put this kid on TV!” it’s entirely likely that we would’ve never heard much of young Corey. But the legend of Corey was not meant to stop there.

Corey appeared on the national news program in which an affable, attractive news anchor did her best to berate our young hero. On the broadcast, Corey wears a gaudy flat-billed baseball cap, an unzipped fur-lined jacket exposing his bare chest and pierced nipple, and canary sunglasses so large that even the most audacious sorority girl would blush at the thought of donning them. The anchor interrogates him, and Corey rattles off a series of outstanding responses. The party? Not his fault, as “it could have been anybody out in the street.” Is he sorry? “(hesitant pause)…yeah. Yeah.” Could you take your sunglasses off? “No…I’ll keep these on.” Why not? “Because they’re famous.”

It all makes for the most furiously brilliant three minutes on YouTube, even better than the dog humping the Pikachu doll.

KU students, our country finds itself mired a severe Corey drought. Once, long ago, we had it good. Not only did we have the crush-worthy Corey Haim, but we had the dreamy Corey Feldman, as well. These two screen stalwarts stole our collective hearts, but it couldn’t go on forever. Now, a new Corey emerges like a phoenix from the ash of the old Coreys’ flamed-out careers. And he couldn’t have come at a better time.

Thanks to the notoriety garnered from his TV appearance, party promoters reached out to Corey, inviting him to build hype for their parties while paying him heftily for his efforts. In this prime capitalization of seemingly ephemeral fame, Corey did what we Jayhawks now must. We will immediately draw up plans for an epic party, one that we will tell our children about in last-ditch efforts to sound and feel hip again, a party so splendid and effusive in design that it will make all the parties in the movies look like trite crap, and invite Mr. Delaney to curate it.

I write in this space today to ignite you, students. I’ve only begun to get the ball rolling here, but only YOU can make this party a reality. Book Abe and Jakes, or, if possible, the moon (the ultimate party venue!). Call every DJ in the Yellow Pages. Spend three straight days at Kinko’s photocopying flyers. Carve wooden Corey sculptures out of your study desks. Sell your textbooks, drop your classes and collect the tuition refunds. Afford no risks in making this party a first-class success.

The result will not be a mere “party,” but a work of art, something that will transcend these meager political dog-and-pony shows and petty day-to-day routines that reign over our lives. We are left to do the only thing that is logical; invite a 16-year-old Aussie with a churlish attitude to promote a party so triumphantly excessive that even Paris Hilton would have the good sense not to attend.

We need to unite and create the purest manifestation of democracy this young planet will ever see.

Get to work, and realize the liberty that our founding fathers could only dream of.

Goble is a Mission Hills senior in English.