I have no plans now or ever to run for local political office. (There, I got that out of the way.) But I couldn’t help wonder this week what my campaign slogan would be in the alternate future during which I decide to bless the local populace with my splendorific genius. Perhaps a little backstory to set the stage.
I live in a part of the United States where the decrepit two-party system has shed all pretense of there being two viable parties. Rather than bring up either party by name, let’s refer to them as R-pubs and D-rats. Hmmm, that’s too obvious. How about Dingleberries and Clodhoppers. Yes, that’ll do nicely.
So, as I was saying, in my home state the Clodhoppers dominate so thoroughly that the Dingleberries provide no legitimate contest. While all you Clodhoppers out there might think this to be the dream scenario, it’s actually the makings of a total disaster. Once upon a time, politics used to be the sport of compromise played for the purpose of balanced governance. (Blessed states like Montana are still tenuously rooted in this sort of split-ticket voting where an effort of balance is manifest as a general sign of distrust for every politician.) Since politics has fully adopted the lingo of warfare, elections have become about destroying the enemy. Take no prisoners! Bar no holds! Death to Dingleberries!
Alas, when a bunch of Clodhoppers storm the state capital with pitchforks and flaming torches screaming bloody vengeance upon their Dingleberry enemies only to find a bunch of fellow Clodhoppers to be present, they have no choice but to turn on themselves. “You’re no Clodhopper! Why, I saw you cavorting with Dingleberries just the other day!” “Hear, hear! Your uncle is from a whole state of Dingleberries!” “I’m more Clodhopper in my sleep than you could ever dream of being!” “I’m literally wearing clods on my feet!” “I’ll hop clods right now! Let’s do this thing, you Dingleberry stomping excuse of a clodhopping jackwagon!”
And with that mature demonstration of articulate politicking, we’ve come full circle. For you see, these are the types of campaign slogans currently dominating the political landscape of my neighborhood. Thus, the time I’ve spent this past week wondering about my own political campaign slogan…for a campaign I never plan on running, for an office I can’t imagine ever being able to handle me.
And after much thought, I landed on the following as the slogan for my nonexistent campaign: “I’m no expert, but I’ll listen to them. I’m no idiot, but I’ll represent them.”
I feel this slogan is fair and well balanced enough to get exactly zero votes—therefore achieving my political ambitions. Feel free to borrow it, seeing how I’ve now completed my failed effort to feign running for office. Good luck and God bless to all you Dingleberries and Clodhoppers this primary season. May the spirit of reason once again curse you with compromise.
At the Desk This Week
Easter has come and gone. The desk calls my name every now and then. Most of the time I find excuses to be outside instead. The house ain’t gonna paint itself you know. And I’m still stuck trying to figure out what I want to be before I die. Meh. For now, I’m okey with just being a guy trying to figure things out right along with the rest of us.
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