If You're Named for a Glove

When I write for three consecutive days on national politics something is going on. Either I have become incredibly insightful, erudite and educated on electoral dynamics and the psychology of the crowd; I'll pause until the laughter subsides- in space they can't hear you scream but in cyber space I can hear you mock me- or we went from knee deep in the stupid to hip deep over night. I'm thinking it's the latter. And you're hoping that's the worst of it but fearing it isn't.

I am of course talking about the Mitt wit who would be President and his 'birther joke' yesterday. Newton's third law demands every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Here ya go. This is the big rush to the ramparts trigger? Meet me at the barricades as we battle over whose ball less bozo is more, or less, clueless? Is this one of these who's the skinniest resident at fat kid camp jokes? We wish.

To review: we are slowly going broke, with the slowly part accelerating on a daily basis. We are so deeply in debt within a generation all hope of finding our way out will be extinguished forever and we will be a nation trapped in involuntary servitude to whomever holds our treasury notes (even if they're in a language the holder cannot read).

We have lost the war on drugs. We long ago lost the war on poverty and from what I've seen the war on literacy, while going splendidly, means soon we'll have no one who can report on its success which is just as well as we no longer have anyone to read about it.

And speaking of war, though we don't talk about on it television anymore, we have been at war in Afghanistan for a decade.  The Americans of all ages and both sexes in our armed forces over there who aren't getting killed in combat or murdered by the very people they were told we are there to help are coming back so beaten and broken by what they've seen and done they cannot ever be made whole, which is just as well because we can't afford to fix them so we're happy we have lots of street corners they can stand on with squeegees and rags.

And since I mentioned helping and healing, let's not forget universal affordable health care which many third world nations, to include the one ninety miles off the Florida coast already have, but we sure don't and aren't you proud to be an American where you can die waving the flag (!) because you lack the money for a doctor or medicine to make you better.
 
And perhaps it's better that we die now since we've criminally underfunded and fleeced private sector pension plans, and anyone depending on Social Security will soon feel like George Armstrong Custer waitin' for the guys from the fort to get here.

And what are we up to in pursuit of the most powerful elected office in the world? Bad Borscht Belt humor from one of the goofiest looking white guys of all time in a long time. And being myself a goofy white guy, I hereby call shotgun in the clown car of analysis that will now consume our media until sometime tomorrow afternoon as those representing the birther and earther perspectives clash on every channel.

It's almost funny-almost except it's the saddest part of Catch-22 where Yossarian tries to help his mortally wounded comrade and ends up dressing the wrong wound as Snowden  freezes to death while bleeding out in the skies over Pianosa. We won't even have the luxury of a silk, or golden, parachute if we don't stop allowing ourselves to be distracted by chatter that doesn't matter. We've 73 days and a wake-up to Election Day and I'm tired of standing this fire watch by myself while the pyros take turns trying to put a match to everything we worked to build. And argue all you want, we did build this.
-bill kenny