Add a few more, and we might not be able to cross the street without getting run over by a candidate-bearing limousine zooming toward Orange County.

Ever since John Edwards withdrew from the race, his former rivals have coveted his endorsement the way a hungry wolf covets a medium-rare pork chop or a ravenous Republican billionaire covets a tax break.

The last thing we need, given Edwards' recent popularity, is Dennis Kucinich beep-beep-beeping across the state in his solar-powered car.

I was sitting in a bar -- wait a minute, did I say "bar"? -- restaurant in Chapel Hill the day Edwards announced he was ending his quest for the presidency. Hillary Rodham Clinton and Barack Obama took a break from low-rating each other to see who could outdo the other with flowery praise for the man they'd both previously disparaged.

Good thing I had my boots on and a shovel handy.

Edwards had suddenly gone in their view from a dude unfit to lead a puppy across the street -- much less a country in the throes of a recession, $3-a-gallon gas and the inexplicable success of Martin Lawrence's movie "Welcome Home, Roscoe Jenkins" -- to a kingmaker.

It's easy to be magnanimous toward a vanquished opponent. Thus, as soon as Hillary or Barack concede defeat, the same opponent who was bad-mouthing them for the previous eight months will suddenly proclaim him or her to be a great humanitarian.

Edwards, a genuine humanitarian who made his concern for the poor the cornerstone of his campaign, no doubt sought a pledge to do similarly from the candidates.

That's cool, but it would have been better had he made them do something really tough to prove they are worthy of our support, like take a Southern IQ test that any linthead -- that's a textile-mill-working Southerner -- could pass:

EDWARDS: OK, Hill. You want hominy grits?

HILL: As many as you got. But I really like your hair.

EDWARDS: Barack, how many vienna sausages come in a can?

BARACK: Vienna sausages?

After that, Edwards could propose some "Fear Factor" type stuff, like scrambling up a big ol' pan of brains -- a delicacy in some parts of the South -- and forcing the candidates to eat.

Oh, the hilarity of hearing Edwards say, "Hillary, I want you to come over here and plant a big wet one on this 8-by-10 glossy of Jesse Helms."

Or, "Obama, run over to Cameron Indoor Stadium at halftime of next month's Duke-UNC game wearing a Dean Smith mask. Then I want you to grab the microphone, yell 'Coach K drinks milk straight from the carton' and dash out."

Anyone brave enough to do that is probably brave enough to stand up to Putin.

If both candidates prove equally qualified -- or unqualified -- he can ask a question that only a real Southerner would know:

What's Barney Fife's middle name?

That's a trick question: Barney had two different middle names at various times -- "Milton" and "P."

I'll bet Mike Huckabee of Arkansas, known in some circles as the "Green Acres" character "Mr. Haney," knows that, but it's unlikely he'll be zooming through Chatham County seeking Edwards' blessing.