I Will Try To Reject Political Stupidity And Submit Lighthearted Stupidity In Its Stead

I’m on the road this week. This is bad timing! Friday, as happens quadrennially or octennially (is that a word?), there will be a graceful transition of power in our mostly peaceful republic. The press is in a snit about it. Their chosen one failed to make the grade. Shockingly, votes matter; even when those unwashed troglodyte others in flyover country do it wrong. Poor waifs in the media; an election without worship of their chosen candidate (or guillotines) sticks in their craw.

The presidential election was two months ago, but in certain quarters dismay is still fresh. Since I’m in my truck I can’t easily ignore their panic. An election followed by wailing and gnashing of teeth seems oddly artificial. The dial went to eleven when the Hairball and Bush Jr. were elected but it didn’t happen when Clinton or Obama were elected. Same could be said of the stampede toward recounts. Hanging chads anyone? Now that I think of it, I didn’t hear bitching about the electoral college when Clinton or Obama was elected. How strange? If only I could deduce a pattern…

Since I’m stuck in a truck’s cab, the media, including America’s taxpayer subsidized radio based propaganda source (NPR) has been inescapable. They’re uniformly insistent that all hope will die on Friday. Sunshine will fade, birds will fall from the sky, KKK goons (whom I’ve never personally seen but are apparently legion) will roam the streets like sheet covered buffalo, Ebenezer Scrooge will stride about kneecapping orphans, Ebola will manifest in the drinking water, and every cat in North America will puke on its owner’s shoes. That’s all going to happen before breakfast on Friday; the blackest of all days.

I’m assured that should I stop my truck on Friday, pull over to the side of the road, and face Washington… I will surely see the mushroom cloud as all we hold dear is vaporized. By Saturday morning people will be dying in the streets, cats and dogs will be living together, and the Cubs will win the World Series. (Some of these portents have already come to pass!) By February all that will remain will be a few weeping orphans and the occasional used car salesman.

It’s all very silly. America has had good presidents and bad ones. It was designed to be more stable than any one President’s plaything and (with notable caveats) it has admirably weathered most storms. I seriously doubt Trump is somehow uniquely and qualitatively different than the other forty-three presidents who’ve come and gone. Even when citizens vote, as the press assures me they have done this time, incorrectly, America lives on… good for us.

The most important thing to remember is that the President isn’t that important. No president from either party will personally come to your house and specifically piss on your privately-owned bowl of Cheerios. Nor will he vacuum your living room or make you a cheese sandwich. In the vast majority of things, he’s just a far-off man in a suit. He’s just not that important in your life; unless you make it so. Also, despite what many people think, Trump is not going to drag anyone to a concentration camp (an activity last performed by FDR, a Democrat, in 1942).

They say it is better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Therefore, no matter how much fun I could have by ridiculing folks that are in flat out panic this week, I’m going to try something more positive. Friday I will begin another multi-part episode in the continuing saga of the lesbian squirrels. I can’t say it’s going to bring joy to the whole world but I can promise I won’t go back and change the order of Han Solo’s quick draw over Greedo.

I will try as hard as I can to avoid ranting about politics. I may fall off the bandwagon but at least I have a goal. If I do nothing other than make people laugh it’s enough. (I may fail at that too but one has to try.)

Plus, the squirrels have been asking about their fate. I left their furry asses in a bind and they’re concerned.

Wish me luck.