You Gotta' Know When To Hold 'em . . . Know When To Fold 'em

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.

Sarah who?

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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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