Political Burnout

Please, no more politics. I can’t take anymore.

I’m a political junkie. I’ve always been addicted to the hard stuff. My dinner table when I was a kid was Crossfire with meatloaf.

But the last 4-years have been a fired-up speedball of blowhard politicians. I feel rhetorically raped. I can’t order a sandwich at the deli without seeing partisan baloney on rye.

I’m haunted, I tell you, and so is every other citizen. We’ve got national PTSD and our political parties promise more.

Joe Biden seems like an okay guy, but every speech he makes is like a dud thud in my battered psyche. And lurking down the basement stairs is a bad wig polishing golf clubs and quietly laughing at our repressed terror.

Apparently, political resumes these days need to include drama schools. Facts are optional. Planning is dangerous. Strategy lethal. And responsibility is for fools.

The best political slogan of the last couple of years came from Governor Whitman of Michigan. Fix the damn roads. I don’t want Days of Our Lives in Congress. I want the DMV. Government work is boring. Dry. Mundane. Deliver the mail. Pick up the garbage. Government is the practical stuff, like wearing a mask in a public health crisis.

The old advertising guru Bill Bernbach once said life is too short to sacrifice so much of it to living with a bastard. We’ve lived with a lot of bastards lately. Bring back the plodding dull politicians who fix the damn roads and leave us alone.