Why, oh why God, do these terrible political events keep happening to me? I am tired of waking up with stabbing occipital headaches, ashtray mouth and vague unsettling memories of being serially lied to. Individually, these are all feelings that I’m comfortable with, but the combination usually means something very specific, and it ain’t politics. If I’m going to feel like this, I should be able to make the American political system sleep in the wet spot and tell it to get the fuck out in the morning.
Why do I need to wake up with the awful knowledge that the woman who might be the next Vice President of the United States is incapable of answering a direct question? Why must I be cursed with the understanding that the latest stowaway on the Straight Talk Express responds to direct inquiries by yammering whatever the fuck she wants about whatever’s rattling around in her skull? Right out of the gate, Sarah Palin responded to a question about Wall Street deregulation by jabbering about the tobacco industry and campaign finance reform. As the Internet Kids say: lolWUT? That’s like asking someone for the time and having them tell you they like a finger snaked up their asshole.
Why, after reading a bunch of pundits’ recaps of last night’s abomination, do I seem to be the only person who knows in his heart that Palin was one more hard question away from pleading the Fifth, or perhaps shouting, “This debate is now about ponies!” And why must I suffer through political events that are disturbingly like Easter dinner with crazy Uncle Pete?
“What do you think about the Red Sox chances this year, Uncle Pete?”
“I was in Da Nang! And I looooove donuts!”
Why, Lord, do I need to hear the word “maverick” so often that I want to choke the shit out of Tom Cruise? Am I the only one who understands that real mavericks don’t go around calling themselves “mavericks,” they go around calling other people “assholes”? Am I the only person who finds people referring to themselves as mavericks as irritating and pathetic as goth kids who go around calling themselves vampires? It might make them feel better about themselves, much in the same way that thumping them in the forehead and growling, “Go cry, emo kid” would make me feel better about myself, but don’t we all know it’s just bullshit posturing?
Why must I watch a candidate with no experience to speak of presume to speak for the needs and wishes of “Joe Six-Pack”? I’ve got news for you: I am Joe Six-Pack. In fact, I’m Joe Thirty-Pack With A Pint Of Beam On The Side To Make Things Interesting. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’d like someone in charge who knows what the fuck they’re doing. Because we don’t; we’re drunk. And we don’t like the idea of being nuked after a diplomatic faux pas. Because it would harsh our buzz, and the liquor store would probably close.
And why must the only other choice for Vice President be a man who, when faced with an opponent who answers all questions with waffling, cynical lies and non-answer answers, proves himself to be a monumental wuss by taking her seriously? Why must I live an a country with expectations so low that people believe Palin – an understudy for the highest office in the land -Â acquitted herself admirably because she didn’t burst into tears and answer all questions with “Jesus did it! He told me when I was sitting on his lap! And it was God’s plan for me to wet my pants!”
Finally, why am I not allowed to moderate a Vice Presidential debate? Why must I watch professional pundits lob predictable softball questions tailored to talking points for ninety minutes, when I could wrap this pig and be on the way to the bar in sixty seconds flat? It would be easy:
“Governor Palin, you’ve said that you’re qualified to be Vice President of the United States. Name ten of them. You have thirty seconds.”
[tags]Sarah Palin, Joe Biden, Vice Presidential Debate, political humor, dark humor, satire[/tags]
