WHO NEEDS BOBBY, MARTIN AND JOHN?

I was getting rather annoyed by politics lately – by the media coverage, by the political ads, and certainly by the job that our current Congress is doing. I was lamenting that the lions of politics – Jefferson, Adams and Lincoln, or for that matter the Kennedy’s and M.L. King – are all long gone, and they left us with a pack of rodent-like statesmen instead. So then I began to wonder, could it be I’m just not getting the point of all this? Maybe the problem is that I don’t drink enough. I certainly don’t have anywhere near the red wine that medical research advises us to consume. Maybe I should also be drinking more beer, or taking more shots of Jack Daniels. Presumably, if I started to drink heavily – kind of like a college freshman back in the American golden age of substance abuse – then I’d get in the proper spirit.

So here goes. [The sounds you’re hearing are the sounds of someone drinking a “virtual” six-pack with a double martini chaser.] … Now, I’m beginning to get the idea. … It’s all becoming clearer. This political season makes sense after all. In fact, it’s really quite festive, once you have the proper perspective.

Let’s start with my man, Macaca. He could be talking about why he doesn’t appreciate being called a Jew. Or point out how strange it is to see swarthy types in real (meaning rural) America. For that matter, he could have been talking about the issues. But this guy’s cool. He wants us to focus on his opponent’s novels. It seems they had some nastiness about women. And I for one would much rather think about tawdry fiction than, say, global warming. Wouldn’t you?

What did you say? Macaca’s just jealous? He resents Webb for being able to write novels, when in fact Macaca can’t even read them? That’s nonsense. Macaca can too read. He just would rather hear his favorite books – like the Protocols of the Elders of Zion – on tape. Reading is so, well, it’s so five years ago.

Then there’s that awesome senate race in Tennessee. Oh my God, did you see that chick in the Ford commercial. The one who was winking at Harold, and asking him to call her. Maybe I’m drunk – alright, so I’m definitely drunk -- but damn, she’d look good to me sober. No wonder Ford put her on that commercial. I mean, it’s so cool that he, a politician, gets invited to Playboy parties and that hot chicks like that want to do him. I know some people will say this is irrelevant to the job of being a U.S. Senator, but I’d like to have senators I can relate to – guys who care about more than antitrust and energy policy, and boring crap like that. I want to have people who truly represent America. The Americans I know wouldn’t just show up at a Playboy party if invited; they’d call that blonde back and, well you know … they’d spend some time with her.

[Someone whispers in the narrator’s ear, before spilling some virtual beer on his pants.] What did you say? That commercial was a Republican hatchet job against Ford? Seriously? Are you telling me it was trying to remind southerners of the image of black sexual predators chasing white women? That’s a load of Macaca. What’s next, you’re going to claim that the sinister sounding tom-tom drums in that radio ad about Ford was meant to suggest that he was some sort of malevolent jungle bunny? Please. The Corker campaign couldn’t in a million years intend such a thing. He surely never made the connection between sinister sounding tom-tom drums and stereotypes about his black opponent. This is Tennessee, folks. There’s no racism in Tennessee. Elvis played rock n’ roll. Where do you think that music came from anyway?

That leads me to another Senator. Good ol’ John Kerry. The first thing that pisses me off about Kerry is that he never talks about his sex life. Idiot. This guy is a Democrat who ran for President, has served a zillion years in the senate, and yet he somehow refuses to talk about his sex life or his private parts. Does this dude know anything about history? Jimmie Carter talked about having lust in his heart. He was President, at least for one term. Bill Clinton talked about being a boxers guy (or was it briefs?), and then, for good measure, he hoses that fat chick – spare me the oral-sex-only stuff; he hosed her! And look at him? He was two-term Presidential material. So now, here’s John Kerry, with a face that’s made of wood, who doesn’t know the first thing about how to introduce his lusts to the American public, and he thinks he can be elected President from the Democratic party? Pleeeaase. He’s just the latest in a long line of seemingly-celibate losers: HHH, McGovern (talk about light in the pants), Mondale, Dukakis … Not one Harold Ford or James Webb in the bunch.

But that’s not what I really wanted to talk about. I can’t believe Kerry would tell a joke and botch it up. Christ, that’s never happened to me. OK, so when I’m drunk, I mangle a few syll-aables. But he shouldn’t be drinkin’ and stumpin’ at the same time. Moron.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. He didn’t really tell a joke. He meant to say that only idiots – like he was when he was a kid – would be stupid enough to serve in the military. In other words, he meant to insult the troops. He couldn’t possibly have meant to insult the President; that would be disrespectful. Besides, he didn’t do any better at Yale than Bush did, so why would he insult Bush’s intelligence? Kerry’s not exactly Einstein either, and by now, you’d think he’d know that.

Well, you’re wrong. He meant to tell a joke, he botched it up, and media was wise to cover this story round the clock for days. The last thing we need in this country are celibate Democrats who don’t know how to tell a damned joke right. Talk about one boring place to live.

Politics should never be boring. That’s one lesson that should be taken from the Kerry flap. Macaca gets that lesson. So does Corker, or Ford, or whatever great mind came up with those cool ads in Tennessee. The liberal elite can whine all they want about things like the “low level of political discourse,” but my fellow Joe Sixpacks don’t give a rat’s ass about political discourse. We want images. Images like Clinton’s undies and Lewinsky’s dress. Images like big bad Willie Horton given a “get out of jail free” card and using it to terrorize white people in Southie. Images like seeing that hottie at a party, picturing her talking to us, and having her whisper “hey, call me.”

I’m just sad it all comes to an end on Tuesday. But when the elections are over, at least we’ll have the memories of this festive season. And should we invade another country for no apparent reason other than to promote democracy, at least we’ll know it will all have been worth the costs.