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I was stuck between two people yelling "I Hate You" at eighty-six decibels and measurable on the Richter Scale. Both are normally upright guys but at the time each wanted the other sideways with a foot in his ear. I was dumbfounded, easy for me, and struggled to hold them at bay. And, no, I wasn't on the Jerry Springer show.
Maybe Fidel Castro is right and Democracy is wrong. Tell me again why watching politicos endlessly hurl epithets and an occasional chair at each other is a good thing. Calling a guy or gal a bald-face liar, no-account cheat and their Momma a cow - choose your own words - only raises hackles and has the prospects of wearing out fingers, both the pointing one and the middle one.
What are hackles anyway? Are bald guys hackle-less and if so what do they raise?
Here's a political proposition that I've pondered ponderously: Let's apply truth-in-lending laws to politicians. That's perfectly politically preposterous, you say?
Anyone who thinks an aspirin can cause more harm than a shifty public serpent, ah, servant raise your hand. That's what I thought, only his mother. Yet, the lowly aspirin has a disclaimer list the size of O J's rap sheet and the politicians show up with none, nada and not any.
Shouldn't we strap politicians to a polygraph and ask if they have ever promised lobster bisque and foie gras in everybody's pot and a Lexus in every intern's garage? When the red light comes on everybody gets to sue them for causing hemorrhoids, erectile dysfunction and post nasal drip. Who makes the rules here? Oh yeah, that would be politicians.
Fidel used to be right before he announced he was going to live forever, which by the way, hasn't yet been disproved. Nobody in Cuba preempts your favorite TV programs to show verbal fist-fights ad infinitum. And there is never more than one candidate which simplifies your homework and shortens the lines for voting. That along with the world's best cigars, anything ever made from granulated sugar, Pina Coladas and year round sunshine sounds hard to beat. But I forgot, all that is bad for you.
Back to the guys who were yelling, "I hate you". The confrontation was spontaneous and a complete meltdown. It happened in a quiet place where fifteen or twenty others were gathered to pursue knowledge through the forgotten concept of reading. That would be in a library.
Actually it had little to do with discussing political candidates and their positions on global warming or their reclining positions with the hired help. These two weren't even sure who was running for president. Their confrontation was all about entitlement, their own, a nasty word coming soon but not yet in their vocabulary.
They are two byproducts, and a microcosm, of the strident and shrill world in which we live and the preferred approach to political campaigning. If you don't get what you want, change the rules, dig up dirt, fabricate, yell and scream and berate your opponent into submission. My assessment is that you may see these guys in politics way down the road as they've got the yelling invectives part down.
After only five minutes of fierce verbal slapping and sniping, the two pint-size balls of piss and vinegar walked back to their classrooms carefree and smiling -- just like all the other six-year-old kindergartners.
I went home and took two aspirins.
John Brazell
Post Script: Like a grandpa with thirty-minute visitation rights I returned the boys to their rightful caregivers for the remaining thirty grueling hours each week. They are two exceptionally dedicated teachers and coincidentally, lovely ladies. How is it they are not completely bald?
An election is coming. Universal peace is declared and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry. T. S. Eliot
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