Colorado’s own Mike the Headless Chicken isn’t being cocky: He has no money, he’s not on the ballot anywhere and, heck, he doesn’t even have a head.

Miracle Mike says he can be the next president of these United States, he announced on the blog that promotes his annual festival.

The pride of Fruita, the real Miracle Mike was an internationally known oddity in the 1940s when he lived for 18 months minus his head, and the town still celebrates its cock of the walk with a town statute and an annual festival, this year on May 18-19.

Candidate Mike is running on the the Free Range Party ticket with the slogan, “It’s a No-Brainer.” He’s asking for write-in votes, but makes no promises of a chicken in every pot.

“My opponents — those poor clucks — are running around like headless chickens, and I gotta ask you: wouldn’t you really rather have the real thing?” his campaign announcement states.

“And wouldn’t you know it, those birds won’t debate me. If they did, I’ll bet you a doodle of wild hay you’ll see the feathers fly.”

Mike’s hometown of 13,000 humans a few miles east of the Utah border also is home to stunning high desert beauty. The town sits between the spiraling peak of the Colorado National Monument and the Book Cliffs mountain range, parted by the Colorado River.

Mike’s world renown remains a worthy rival to the scenery today.

Mike was destined to be dinner, when the late Fruita farmer Lloyd Olsen lopped off his head up against the base of the skull to leave as much neck as possible.

Despite the loss, Mike refused to go down.

For days, the headless fowl pecked for food and when he tried to crow, a gurgling sound came out, according to accounts.

Olsen was said to put feed and water into Mike’s gullet with an eyedropper. When Mike was still alive a week later, Olsen took him to the University of Utah scientists, who said Mike retained enough brain stem to carry on without a cranium.

Mike made public appearances. He was pictured in Life magazine and listed in the Guiness Book of Records. He was the subject of a PBS documentary, Colorado songwriter Timothy P. Irvin made Mike the namesake of a song, and the Fruita’s famous fowl continues to get mentions on television today.

It all ended too soon in March 1947, when Mike choked to death on a kernel of corn in an Arizona motel while on tour. His carcass continued touring until 1949, boding well for his stamina on the campaign trail.

Joey Bunch: 303-954-1174 or jbunch@denverpost.com