marr homeless guyVote early, vote often, and vote for this guy.
American politicians put the "pain" back in campaigning
For the longest time I thought that Kenny Rogers song was about laundry. I mean, you gotta’ know when to fold ‘em, know when to hold ‘em. You gotta’ know when to walk away, and know when to run.
If those lyrics aren’t about socks, underwear, ripped-to-shreds T-shirts and blue jeans covered in sawdust, caustic paint-strippers and paw prints then I don’t know what is. There are days when I just don’t want to do laundry. Hell, there are weeks when I don’t want to do laundry. There are days and weeks when I don’t.
Living alone, and rarely seeing people other than my pups Jack and Hugo, this operational method makes perfect sense. It’s not that I live in squalor; I checked my ethical and moral beliefs the other day and discovered that I am firmly opposed to squalor. That’s probably a position that both the current US President and the horde of Republican candidates should appropriate. It’s safe, it says nothing and hardly anyone would be strongly opposed to such a stance.
Speaking of which, this whole political process is quite amusing. As many of you know (and as quite a few of you don’t) for about a decade I was quite the political animal. I wrote about it, ranted about it and was a regular columnist in enough newspapers that my readership was frighteningly large and widespread. I knew I had made it when I started getting phone calls and letters from senators, reps, governors and the like. I was somewhere to the right of Attila the Hun . . . something that irritated most of my editors to no end (as 99% of them were somewhere to the left of Karl Marx).
And then, inexplicably and slowly, my interest waned. I quit writing about the stuff, quit caring about the stuff. I realized it was all a stupid game played by stupid people (or, if not stupid people, the sort of gene-spliced humans who had a rather large strand of weasel DNA bopping around in their genetic make-up). It really should not be a surprise that we have such incompetent leaders, because anyone smart enough to run for higher office is smart enough not to run for higher office.
I’ve identified several characteristics inherent to the type of person who wants to seek out and campaign for one of the chairs at the big table. None of them are especially pleasant.
1: You must have the personality and temperament of a used-car salesman. Moreover, it’s not good enough to be a mild-mannered used car salesman who simply wants to sell you a semi-functional Ford truck, go home, eat some chicken and watch Jeopardy. It is imperative that you possess the traits of the sales weasel who will pester you for days on end.
In short . . . if you’re going to run for any state or federal seat you must be a stalker. For best results you should have probably been convicted of stalking . . . twice. It’s all about credibility.
2: Telling people what to do, sticking your nose in their insignificant business, is muy importante for those who wish to wield the reins of power. You must be a complete and absolute control freak. Almost everyone was, at one time or another, acquainted with an elementary school teacher who hovered over your little desk and berated you because your penmanship looked less like John Hancock calligraphy and more like cuneiform bird-scratches. This teacher was insistent you follow all the rules – an oblong pink eraser was okay but a Frito Bandito eraser on the end of your jumbo-diameter pencil was both a crime against humanity and a mortal sin.
More succinctly . . . if you’re going to run for any state or federal seat you must be arrogant, haughty, autocratic and dogmatic. For best results you should have been fired from your job as "High Lord of the Third Grade" for making the student who took fifth in the spelling bee stand on one leg for seven hours (that’s how kids learn . . . don’t ya know).
3: You must think you are a messiah, or if not a messiah, at least one of the more renowned prophets. Think Moses, rather than the lice-encrusted wino who sits in the oleander bushes behind the 7-11 and rants about the end of the world and/or the year that a can of string-cheese will lead to the fall of civilization as we know it.
Summation? You have to be crazy as a loon but articulate enough that your insanity will fool about 85% of the country into thinking you’re profound. There’s a fine line between crazy and brilliant. There’s a finer line between crazy and full of artfully delivered crap.
4: Have good hair. Spend hours on your hair. Own a tanning bed. Talk about (in the same breath) how rich you are and how you relate to folks who make $3.65 an hour pulling hides off deceased bovines at the local rendering plant.
This means that, from an early age, you told so many whoppers that you no longer recognize that your lies are lies. To quote George Costanza on an old episode of Seinfeld, “It’s not a lie if you believe it.”
I’m not going to go to deeply into what the current crop of clowns have said or done, but I will touch on it. Newt wants to build a city on the moon so we can all become cheese miners. Rick thinks he’s the archangel Michael and is just raring to jump the top rope and slap three head butts, two atomic drops and one sleeper hold on Satan. Barack never met a Master Card that he didn’t want to max out and believes that filling your tank with pond scum (and other autotrophic organisms) will allow your car to get 700 miles per gallon. Mitt keeps throwing the old Rawlings horsehide at himself because he thinks he’s a baseball glove. And really . . . who names their kid "Mitt?" That's just evil.
Ron Paul is pretty sure that he’s really Ru Paul, or vice versa, and just wants to tell the world to go away so everyone will buy AMERICAN MADE gownless evening straps.
And that’s enough of that.
It all reminds me of my laundry basket, assuming I left it out in the rain for a few days and then stuck it in a hot closet for a few months. There’s a certain aroma there . . . and it ain’t roses.
As an aside, it should be noted that (along with other modern conveniences like a cell phone) I do not own a clothes dryer. I just hang everything on the line. It would be nice if we could do the same thing with politicians.
Hanging them all out to dry, airing out the stench and noting the various rips, holes, stains and patches would make for a fine vetting process. They’ve already got the “flapping in the breeze” technique down pat. We simply need to recall the wisdom of Kenny Rogers.
We gotta’ know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em. Know when to walk away and know when to run.
None are worth holding, all should be folding. The entire cast should be walking away, and none of them are fit to run.
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