Learning to Love the Bomb – and Hating It
You will say…”Boy howdy, this guy sure hates politics. I mean, I know it’s an ugly business, but what a depressing outlook.”
And then, three politically driven posts later, “Boy howdy…” – you say that a lot and your friends are tired of it – “…this guy sure writes a lot about politics for someone who hates it so much and has only a casual knowledge of the subject. Surely he could focus instead on the daffodils and the adorable sparrows that flutter above them. They are sure more pleasant.”
So lets end this thing before it begins, by killing birds with stones. I will make use of more than one as my aim is off today and some of our feathered friends are not lining up just right.
I LOVE politics. All of the candidates are terrible, remorseless villains or misguided extremists who are sure to screw someone over…and no real change will ever come of it. We are certainly past that point. But the pageantry…GOD DAMN THE PAGEANTRY!
All of the news outlets buzz around each other, their leather on flannel friction creating news stories that would not otherwise exist…and covering every single angle thereof. Candidates go through four, maybe five costume changes per debate, showing off their inhuman talents of body contortion and shooting milk out of their eyes. And by the time it gets to the swimsuit segment…you are spent…almost, but we must have the strength to hold back until just after each proclaims, “If I had one wish,” – each one tossing their hair at this point – “I would wish for world peace.” AND FLASH THOSE PEARLY WHITES!
This superficiality is a very important and fortunate thing for me. It allows me to write on the subject without any real understanding or careful discussion of the issues or their ramifications. I feel just like a real journalist.
Of course, those are real journalists at ESPN too, aren’t they? Much the same thing and the line between the two, in coverage and content, blurs more everyday. But, if this has at least been true to this point, then I am telling you that it is just the perception that blurs; and as its doors are properly cleansed we’ll be forced to see that they are truly one and the same. This is not any dumb philosophical revelation or admonishment of society – though it may be a bit of a heavy-handed literary device. No! Embrace this reality and squeeze everything you can from it.
I’ve never…really gambled, except as a fat little 10 year-old stealing away at a modestly concealed video-poker machine on a cruise ship. Won $7 from a quarter…enough to obtain six or seven Butterfingers…but I got cocky and lost it all. Of course, I still wound up with a Butterfinger, but it didn’t’ taste as good as it could have…or certainly not seven times as good. This my only guidance, I would either be a phenomenal success or utter disaster as a true gambler. There would be no in-between. But luckily, that is where politics steps in.
Pick a number, pick a horse, pick a team, pick a candidate…and attach yourself to it like a Butterfinger sucking parasite. Do not feel guilty about it – they deserve the same they give…or take. And in this, you have options. Most go for the obvious win by picking one of the perennial winners…preseason favorites…Republicans and Democrats…and, as the NFC cannot seriously complete this metaphor, their modern-day NFL counterparts would be the Indianapolis Colts or, certainly, the New England Patriots…
EDITOR’S NOTE: The author here attempted in tortured vain to include a clever allusion to the horrible run of the Buffalo Bills in the early ‘90s. Although he had some rather witty possibilities – none appearing here in any attempted form – they all basically clunked about with everything else in the post and weighed it down so much that it killed any momentum it had. In summation, however, the Democrats have sucked as much as the Bills had, and I hate the Dallas Cowboys more than the Bills, Giants, Democrats, or Republicans combined (more on this soon).
….but is that really the type of lame missionary-style orgasmic joy that you’re vying for? The best case scenario is you win the Super Bowl and you get to walk around for a couple months as winner of the “Who Has the Biggest Dick Contest”. But then what? How long can you walk around like that and still expect people to take notice as they unavoidably slip into the coma that is the 162 games of the Major League Baseball season. There is nothing sexual on their minds at the point unless it’s the ever-present crotch pull…and that is morally ignored as a cotton-polyester summer necessity. And what the hell are you even gambling with? If you lose…you have at worst the 4th largest penis out of any of the NFL teams and in politics it’s at least the 2nd biggest…and that is still pretty big…big enough…alright?
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