I used to be crazy enough to think that I wanted to go into politics. Of course, I’m still several cards short of a full deck, but I am completely disabused of the notion that I want to dip so much as one pinky toe into the political arena.
Why? Well, let’s just say that I graduated from junior high school a long time ago and I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to go back. Think about it: Raging hormones, cliques, bullying and the rebellious refusal to do anything productive. They are one and the same.
Pubescent Teenager: “Moooooooooom! I just made it to level 9,374,534 on Zombie Hooker Killers! I’ll do my homework laaaaaaaaaaaater!”
Pubescent Politician: “Constitueeeeeeeeeeeeeeents! Yes, we have soldiers dying overseas while their families starve to death at home, but Obama might have been born in Kenya, his wallet might be brown when he said it was blue and we need to investigate the use of steroids in the NFL! Oh, and pay no attention to the girl wearing pasties and a g-string in the corner. She’s a lobbyist for a....um...arts and dancing program.”
I’m a Democrat, but I didn’t accept Obama as my lord and savior like many of my brethren did in ’08. There was too much wrong with the country that a lot of flash and very little substance couldn’t cure. Now, many of those same brethren are very disillusioned and I’m just shaking my head. Of course, McCain didn’t crank my tractor either.
What’s really got me frigging terrified this year is the current state of affairs in the Republican Primary. One usually expects the Democrats to hold a three-ring circus because that’s just how we roll, but the GOP usually puts up a nearly identical row of expensive suits, starched shirts, fabulously moussed hair and blinding smiles that do nothing to warm otherwise constipated expressions. This year, we have Mr. Godfather’s Pizza who may or may not be able to keep his pepperoni to himself, a governor who would likely legalize execution for jaywalking if given half the chance and a man named for an amphibian. Lord have mercy.
Now, I don’t want to be one of those irritable people who bitches and moans endlessly without any solution. Actually, I’m not going to go so far as to say that I have a solution, but I do have a thought. Upon careful reflection, I believe that we might benefit from putting a Southern Belle in office. Think about the main talking points in this train wreck we call an election: Crime and terrorism, the economy and foreign relations.
Those of you who even have to question a Southern Belle’s ability to be tough on crime are too stupid to live and you will be taken out by the tenets of Darwinism in short order anyway. As for the rest of you, I’m going to tell you two stories:
(1) Once upon a time, there was a Southern Belle who stayed at home and ran the plantation while her husband traveled to the capital to serve his elected post in the Senate. The husband enjoyed himself tremendously while he was away and that enjoyment included many a rendezvous with more than one woman. Of course, word of her husband’s debauchery got back to our Southern Belle and, by the time her puffed up peacock of a husband returned home, our Southern Belle had hired a personal militia to defend her plantation against his return. Senator Hound Dog was forced to make permanent living arrangements in the capital city.
(2) Once upon a time, there was a Southern Belle who was married to a tee total bastard. He wasn’t dumb enough as to be physically abusive, but a kind word never came from his lips. The years wore on and the Southern Belle continued to put up with the venom. The day came when the son of a bitch had to have an operation that was going to cause him to be on his back for a very significant period of time. The Southern Belle got the upstairs bedroom all fixed up for his sour ass and got him all tucked in when he came home from the hospital. When he got hungry and demanded food, the Southern Belle fixed a beautiful plate and set it at the bottom of the stairs. She then told her asshole of a husband that he could crawl down and get it and that he should get used to it because that was how his meals would be served for the foreseeable future. (V.V., I hope I got this mostly right.)
The terrorists won’t know what hit them.
As far as the economy goes, have you ever seen a Southern Belle snap into action when extra people show up at a party? From the moment we can manage a pot holder and a trivet, Southern Belles are trained to deal with those inevitably uncouth individuals who fail to RSVP or “tag along” to a social event. I’ve seen parties where as many as 30 to 50 extra people show up, the Belle hostess never bats an eye and everyone is more than adequately fed and watered. It’s like the loaves and the fishes story in The Bible.
See? Hungry masses fed.
Of course, jobs are the other factor in the economy. All I have to say to that is: Junior League. Well, there’s also the Hospital Auxiliary, the Church Guild, Daughters of the Confederacy and all sorts of other groups. What these groups teach the Southern Belle is the art of precision delegation. There is a job for everyone and It. Will. Be. Assigned.
Unemployment? Tootles.
Now, what foreign relations calls for is diplomacy and diplomacy is really just international etiquette. Who better than a Southern Belle to go global with manners? Thank the good Lord that United States has gotten out of its chest thumping stage, but we’ve still got a long way to go in shaking all of the dirt off of our image and no one’s better than at cleaning house than a Southern Belle. Heck, you’d be amazed at what evidencing concern for someone other than yourself and the occasional thank-you note can do.
Foreign relations? Thankyouverymuch.
Let’s face it: We’re in a mess. The folks that we trusted to clean up the mess are piddling around and fighting like little junior high school cliques over less than nothing while the wolf is tearing down the door. I think it might be time to kick ass. It might be time for a Southern Belle.
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