Paul Ryan, Mitt Romney’s vice presidential pick, is a lot like a york peppermint patty; you look into his cool blue eyes and go, “Wow, this is refreshing,” then realize that you’ve been teleported to the top of the Himalayas in a t-shirt. Refreshment suddenly turns to terror as you realize that you’ve no experience with mountains, and the voice of reason begins shouting, “You idiot, you’re about to die because of a peppermint patty.” The voice becomes louder and louder as you slowly begin to succumb to the frosty clutches of the mountain, finally reaching a point where you’ve no choice but to give in entirely and embrace the oblivion that the delicious chocolate treat has condemned you to.
Then again, all politicians are bought and paid for by the same people, so it’s not really surprising. I suppose the only difference is which mountain we get stranded on and how refreshing our inevitable deaths will be.
Let’s get this out of the way—I’m apolitical. If you judge one’s political party based on how they vote, then I should probably mention that I’ve never voted, nor do I ever plan to. I don’t have a political party or affiliations because I’m simply not a big enough dumbass to believe that one group of people is capable of coming up with the solutions for everything. You know a group of people who had a lot of ideas about how to make the world a better place? Nazis. Needless to say, it’s always a good idea to get some dissenting opinions and try to see issues from another viewpoint.
There are, of course, situations where dissenting opinions are a bad idea. Lava pits and their viability as swimming holes would certainly be one of these situations. If anyone tells you that lava doesn’t burn that bad, chances are you’re about to be sacrificed to one of many volcano gods.
You’d think things like this would be common sense, of course, but politics have taken a dark turn toward the bizarre. Reality itself can be twisted to benefit one political party, and both the “right” and the “left” have become shady organizations that could make even the most jaded of gang members feel like a saint by way of comparison. “Yo dawg, I may shoot cops, but stalling the possibility of compromise with regards to raising the debtizzle ceiling? That’s whack.” Please ignore the fact that my hypothetical gang member lives in the nineties.
There’s this scene in the animated movie Anastasia where Rasputin sells his soul to the devil and has his flesh ripped off so that he can be totally evil. Or something. I haven’t actually seen the movie in something like ten years, so it’s hard to be sure. Point is, I picture that scene every time I hear of new politicians being sworn in, as though politics require dark rituals that tear off the very flesh of the politicians and leave nothing but empty husks for their dark overlords (Harry Reid and John Boehner fit the bill nicely) to control with dark puppetry. Which is like penis puppetry, only more perverse and less humorous because not even penis puppetry has as many dicks as are in politics.
Sigh. Paul Ryan is going to strand us on a mountain. Problem is, so are the rest of the political asshats. You might want to pack climbing gear.