Hank is chuckling, I’m sure. Actually, he’s probably halfway through a full-throated belly laugh by now which, when he catches his breath, will become uncontrollable sobbing because he can “laugh and cry in a single sound.”
By Hank, I mean Henry Lewis Mencken or as he’s known across the ages and throughout the world, H. L. And we’re working overtime from the pages of his playbook, “Each party steals so many articles of faith from the other, and the candidates spend so much time making each other's speeches, that by the time election day is past there is nothing much to do save turn the sitting rascals out and let a new gang in.”
I’ve always preferred HR, Pufenstuf to Block, though I was neighbors to another one for the better part of a decade, but Mencken is the man when it comes to all things vaguely democratic (small “d” please) here in the Land of Unlimited Possibilities (and Bombast, and another word that starts with B and ends with T and has an S in the middle). I don’t want any more angry letters from the Legion of Decency (not until they learn how to spell at least) so connect the dots for yourself on that one.
I still haven’t taken the “Feel the Bern” sticker off my car’s back window and I may become that curmudgeon in the neighborhood all the kids avoid, the one with a Back to Mono button on my cardigan sweater struggling to mow the grass around my imaginary Bernie lawn sign because the current menu of mental midgets, defective and derelicts seeking the nation’s highest office causes me to throw up in my own mouth, just a little.
Do not waste my time preaching about Jill Stein and/or Gary Johnson. They’re not going to win so a vote for either of them is nothing more than the equivalent of taking a pee in a dark blue suit. It gives you a nice warm feeling and no one notices. I almost admire your principles but where the hell were they when the folks currently Rope-A-Doping in the center ring of the circus were still scuffling to get there?
Save your moral indignation at having to choose between the Lesser of Two Weasels. None of us are gonna be around forever but our kids and their kids (touch wood) will be and I don't want their lives, and beyond, determined by Supreme Court Justices one of the two major party candidates promises he will nominate.
There were lots of folks who just couldn’t bring themselves to vote for Gore back in 2000 (that sleazebag Bill Clinton, you know, and a moral repugnance at his alleged sleazeball behavior); they were not even willing to hold their noses and go for Gore so, instead, they cast their unique to them and precious ballots for Ralph Nader and felt very good about themselves.
You remember the Nader Presidency; it was wonderful, wasn't it? Right up until the moment that chad, of Chad and Jeremy, reared its ugly head in the Florida recount and we ended up in Diana Ross’ court where Shrub won, 5-4, after penalty kicks. None of which would've or could’ve happened if half the smugly superior Floridians who voted for Nader hadn’t.
And here we are sixteen years on in a world where huge amounts of change happened because of and despite that one selfish decision to seek the moral high ground and the hell with the rest of us. To review: we have an orange guy who is frighteningly proud of his ignorance and a buttoned-up woman who may be genetically incapable of telling the truth. So much for freedom of choice. What too many of us want is freedom from choice. It's a little late for that, Sunshine.
Eighty-seven days until we have a once in our lifetime (I hope) chance to fulfill H. L.’s prophecy, “On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.” You know what? I can wait. Seriously, I can wait.