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Drinkin' Nader-Haterade
By Steve, Hipsterpad.com || |
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I woke up catatonic, sandbags were still being hurled at me while I tried to claw my way out of the pit that reminded me of Kate Moss' waist and Nancy Grace's mind. Caught in the far right lane on the Jersey Turnpike of waking consciousness during rush hour, I actually believed the words I heard were part of a lucid, creepy dream. "Ralph Nader has just thrown his hat into the 2008 Presidential Race! More on that after an in-depth report on the 38 million children Angelina Jolie didn't adopt this year. Now over to you, Pam." |
Boy, was I pissed when I coaxed the ol' noggin out of hibernation. Turns out, the one guy on the face of the fucking earth older than John McCain has decided, once again, to be the last guy to show up at the party. You know the one, stone cold sober, probably just left his shift at some voluntary albino marmoset rescue organization; the guy that engages you in conversation by saying "Every day in America, stockbrokers eat 46,837.5 babies", and smells like Swiss cheese and stale Fresca...that guy. Now what does that guy do? He hauls ass into the kitchen, starts drinking the rainbow, pukes in the sink, does a keg stand, slaps your girlfriend's ass, then after getting just enough people to think he's cool enough to not get him kicked out, he passes out on the pool table.
I don't have any issues with third party candidates, in fact, I think it's counter-productive to not have ninth party candidates in every election; then narrow it down after primaries and force people to make an informed, active decision based on a larger understanding of your, you know, representative!! Anyhoo, back to Nader.
Ralph, I worked for you way back in 2000. I sincerely believed in, and still do to this day, that a voice needed to be heard in the Circus Maximus that wasn't the Emperor's. But you changed all that four years ago. When you chose to be the clown in the last rodeo, you made it easier for one more Texas go 'round. For what? It's not like you're a fuckin' hermit; you're the Dick Clark of politics, the spiteful octogenarian on the porch that hates life and wears a tin foil helmet to block out the CIA's mind control device. Maybe that's the answer. Spite. Or ego, because it sure as hell wasn't logic; not then, not now. You're a media whore, a spoiler, you ruined Christmas. You sir, are a grinch.
Please man, pass the torch. I know, now that arthritis has taken it's toll, prying said torch from your atrophied, calcium deficient, liver spotted hands will be like trying to get Hayden Christensen to act, but for the love of your country, sir, let it go. Start doing something positive. Take on a protoge. Groom some sharp young mind in the hopes that four years from now, we'll all be disenchanted enough to think differently, not conveniently.
Yes, I realize that we're a tad bit overdue for governmental reconstructive surgery. Yes, I realize that corporate ownership of America isn't nearly as fun as ritualistically disemboweling yourself with a rusty grapefruit spoon. The environment has reached Lorax proportions, we delight in jabbing syringes full of oil into our necks, you can't debate and that's wrong, and Glenn Beck's an asshole. We get it! Point taken, sir, now for the love of Christ, spend the rest of your Golden Years making $40,000 speeches and writing insultingly obvious books.
- Steve -
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