Most politicians are horrifically ugly.
I don’t think they were born that way. I’m sure they all started out like the rest of us; mystifyingly cute bags of wrinkles and barf, cooing our way into the defenseless hearts of anyone naïve enough to think having one is a great tax deduction.
But they’re all ugly, aren’t they? Politicians, I mean. Babies, they’re about 74% ugly. Downtown male fatcats? 100% hideous. I mean, is there an official disfigurement requirement to get into the legislative building if you’re a man? Good gravy, it’s like The Hills Have Eyes casting call over there.
So what happened in their lives to turn them into such unsightly ghouls in the first place? I’m guessing, stress. That stuff’ll kill a person, given sufficient quantities. *Little known fact: The Soviet Union ran a deep-level research program between 1967 and 1975 in an attempt to bottle the stuff, their endgame being to scuttle the American Space Program by causing mental breakdowns of NASA staff via high stress levels. Unfortunately for them, NASA members were already stressed to the max trying to justify its budget to American taxpayers who no longer cared about silly old space rocks.
Politicians deal with stress, it comes with the job. Endlessly trying to pretend they care about their constituents, holding up random babies at public gatherings (contrary to popular belief, babies typically don’t have much money on them to warrant a hold-up in the first place,) and tirelessly fielding off personal scandals can take a toll on just about any human, political or otherwise.
Ever seen how drastically a new parent will age in comparison to their children? It’s like 10 years to the parent for every three weeks of their kid. A guy can get ID’d at a liquor store until he’s in his mid-thirties, but as soon as a kid is introduced it’s a different story.
*Dling dling (sound of the door at the Liquor Depot.)
“Afternoon Tom, just coming in for your weekly six-pa OH SWEET PETE WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU!? TAKE IT, MAN! TAKE IT ALL, IT’S YOURS! YOU NEED THIS STUFF!”
Alright, so there are advantages to horrific aging. Pity, for one thing. But not much else beyond that.
Point is, stress will turn even the sweetest of little, pudgy baby angels into the soulless succubi of adult society, and in particular, our current political landscape.
So whenever I catch glimpses of politicians online or in the paper (for you young ‘uns, it’s an analog papery medium used to insult us with crosswords and papercuts) and see their horrible disfigurements up close I’m like “Whoa! I don’t wanna turn into one of them! They’re hideous!”
And my wife is all like “Dude, you have children, and thus stress. You’re already half-way there.”
And I’m all like “Nuh-uh!”
And she’s all like “Fine, three-quarters.”
And I’m all like “That’s right, baby! Recognize.” And I sit back down, still trying to figure out a three letter word for not dog, six down.
So anyone with more sense than a politician (most of us, I’d wager) understands the devastating effect that stress can have on a person. And if that’s what people can see happening on the outside, well shoot, their insides are probably beyond recognition, causing surgeons to accidentally dismiss essential bits as “ruffage” during surgery, replacing things with olive loaf and rigatoni, their philosophy being Meh, it can’t be any worse. And the markup on pasta? Fuggedaboudit.
Anyway, it’s a long-winded way to say stress = bad.
And I’ve let myself consume waaaaaay too much of it. But I think I’ve narrowed down my stress-causing problems to just a couple things: 1) I care too much about everything. 2) A Nigerian prince needs my help to bring his family fortune into the country.
I mean, I’ve tried to help the guy. I emailed my bank info and passwords to him, but haven’t heard anything back. Not gonna lie, a touch stressed for his well-being. Hope he’s okay.
But the caring about stuff? Oy, vey. Environmental disasters? What can I say, I have a soft spot for turtles who have unfortunate accidents when doing lines of coke. Disease-borne apocalypse? As much as I believe myself to be an absolute badass shooting zombies in VR, I’m pretty sure in real life I would pull the trigger fruitlessly until my brains were consumed, the hammer clicking impotently against the safety the whole time. And political turmoil? As I get older, I just can’t help but get agitated that governments lie even more than I do whenever I see my dentist, and that’s a lot. Uh huh, I fwoss ehwyday, humtimes whice. Why?
It seethes inside me, almost like a cancer sometimes. And that’s a scary thought, isn’t it?
That stress, man. It’s a killer. And since I enjoy being on this side of the ground, the sunshiny side without all the worms, I’m trying hard to have less stress in my life. Or rather, I’m trying less, so to speak. The less I know, the less I care, the less stress can get the better of me.
I look at idiots, and envy them in that they seem unconcerned with the bigger picture. God bless ‘em, their shirts all inside out, but dang it if they aren’t happy and in the moment. Should I care that the planet is dying and it’s all our fault? Well yes, of course. Makes me sad just writing that. But I can’t fix the problem. Smarter people than me can, and so I wish them luck. And it’s not that I will stop trying to use less, or recycle, or look at alternative energies. Because we should, it should just be part of living sensibly. But I’m not gonna stress about the planet imploding, or melting, or drying out any more. Nothing I can do about that. Same goes for all the other big stressors. The political system in particular? It’s broken, no doubt. But people with political science degrees and the means to do something about it are working on it, I’m sure.
You think I’m wrong? You think I’m a lazy coward who doesn’t want to fight for what’s right? You think that everyone should care about all the big issues that affect society and the world as a whole? I say nope. And here’s why.
I’m just not made for it. I can’t handle big-issue stress. It gnaws at me from the inside out, and all it would do is kill me faster. Other people can handle it, other types of people. People whose life ambition and purpose is to champion a great cause and put it to good use. I’ll be honest, it’s just not in me.
What’s in me is to write, and to hopefully entertain. I’ve kinda let myself get derailed for a while, the cancerous influences of life in general and world issues pressing in on me and stifling the one thing I can do for people. Some like to read my writing, some don’t. To those who do, I will focus my creative energies in your direction in an effort to hopefully make you laugh and distract you from your stresses. That’s what I can provide to this world, and I’m trying to make sure I don’t lose sight of that. To those who don’t like my writing, well, to Heck with you. You’re not even reading this, most likely. So nuts to you. And know that the rest of us will be cracking wise about yo mamas behind your back.
I just don’t want to be ugly. I mean, uglier. Stress is a horrible debilitator, physically and otherwise. To be as beautiful as I can be to those that matter in my life (friends, family, you fine readers, Fraggles,) I’m caring less about the things that are beyond my abilities to do anything about, and do what I can do, without a care in the world for the bad stuff.