I always thought ultimate fighting was a brutal sport, until I started following politics. At least the fighters shake hands after they beat the hell out of each other.
Why anyone would want to run for public office is beyond me. The scrutiny is relentless. One thing that would disqualify me is, well, my past. The press would pick through it like a mother chimp grooming bugs out of her baby’s fur. They would find my history of shoplifting, gambling and spousal abuse. (That time my wife kicked me to the curb.) Then there were those nights with ladies of the evening. I’m sure that wouldn’t help my campaign. For some reason, soccer moms tend to frown on revelations of debauched sex and Jell-O shooters slurped off a partner’s tummy.
With every politician, there’s always going to be some sort of sex scandal. Nothing is off limits, prostitutes, teenage boys, it’s all fair game. If a politician isn’t cheating you, he’s probably cheating on his spouse, but he’s most likely doing a little of both. That’s how he spreads the wealth. But, a good sex scandal means publicity… and unlike the woman he’s with, the publicity is free.
I’m sure that the moment I declared my intention to run for office though, piles of bones would pour from my closet like a rush of polluted water breaking through a New Orleans levee during in a hurricane. Most of the time, a candidates downfall is the result of some seedy sex scandal. On the upside, if they would just look at my current state; they’d see that I’ve changed. I’m married, which means I have no sex life anymore.
Why do people choose public office? The desire to make a difference? To change the world? To help the little man? No, the truth is more primitive. Through years of watching the news and reading the newspaper, I’ve deduced an Einstein-like mathematical formula to help understand the hunger to be a government official: Politician equals power and greed squared.
The politician is known as a public servant, which is obviously a misnomer. The day a Congressman comes to my house and weeds my flower bed, walks my dog, runs the kids to dance class, gets me a beer, feeds me grapes, and throws in a back massage, then I’ll call him a “servant.” (Don’t get any ideas Barney Frank.)
In fact, these people are far from servants; they are rich beggars. The majority of their time isn’t spent on solving national problems like illegal immigration, health care, social security, alternative energy or, most importantly, getting the talentless Paris Hilton out of the limelight. No, their time is spent hobnobbing around the country on first class flights, staying in five star hotels, drinking top shelf booze and spending nights with high class hookers. Instead of fixing the trade deficit, they’re sticking their corrupt-stained hands out and snatching campaign funds so they can win another term in office. Blue blood homeless bums living in great big homes… with servants. They know that without that money, they’re back to eating ribs at Chili’s and being told their hour is up by some crackinfested, street walker.
Yes, much time is spent on campaign financing, which might be best because it keeps them from convening and passing laws that slowly erode what minuscule rights we have left. Our government officials pick at our freedoms like a little girl at a state fair pulling chunks off her fluffy wad of cotton candy. I say keep legislation out of it: if you want people to lose their rights and freedoms, tell them to get married. But I digress. Where was I? Oh right, politicians groveling for bucks. I say take the money out of politics and put it in my 401K.
Money is certainly important to get into office. Let’s face it, you need cash to bash. The more dollars you have, the sleazier you can make your opposition look. If your opponent did cocaine when he was in college and you have a small budget you might only be able to take out a negative ad in a small town paper.
On the other hand, if you’ve been able to rake in some major dough from supporters, you can run 60 second TV commercials all over the country. While superimposing the head of your powdered nose paranoid opponent fumbling with a big word as an announcer with a deep, snarling voice chimes: “You want this man hoofing big fat rails in the oval office while Kim Jung Ill points a missile at your city? Can we really trust a frat boy junky who so strung out he can’t even pronounce the word Hezbollah? This message approved by Everybody who’s a Democrat.”
Could you imagine having to give speeches every day? Not me. Whenever I had to give an oral report in junior high school, I was throwing the night before, and then spent the next morning trying to convince my mother I couldn’t go to school because I had Polio and Scarlett Fever. It never worked, and I had no choice but to give my presentation as a dark, wet spot grew in the crotch of my pants in front of a giggling class.
I think my main hang-up would be taking a stance on a particular issue. The problem is I want everyone to like me. If people were protesting something I supported, I would switch positions right then and there. I can’t stand to be hated. I hate it. I would try and flip-flop so much that nobody knew what I stood for. “I say raise taxes while we’re lowering them,” or “I’m for gay marriage as long as the couple is straight.”
Something must be wrong with someone who wants to live their life under a microscope. What are you an amoeba? No matter what you do, half the people think it’s right and the other half think it’s wrong and only half of those people vote. Politics. What a filthy way to spend your life. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. The Romans will attest to that. Orgies were their downfall. (But what a way to go!)
Thank you folks. You’ve been a great audience. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses and congressman.
by Jeff Charlebois