I think this is the third time I’ve referred to Emerson, Lake and Palmer during this election cycle, but …
“Welcome back my friend to the show that never ends.”
Forget Bush fatigue or Clinton fatigue. How about “I wish everyone would go someplace and shut the hell up for five minutes” fatigue. Because I have that in spades. I’m bored with the (not) controversies. I long for the days when the people who aren’t running for president didn’t get press time like they were. I want to build a bridge back to the 20th century, encourage the Clintons to cross it then burn the bitch down before they can make it back to the other side.
It’s not that I don’t like them. I’m tired of everyone trolling for votes. I appreciate the fact that I’m so desired as a voter, but my mind is starting to wander in a bid of self-preservation.
Sigh. If only there were one or two horrible wars to learn about on the news. Oh, well. Go ahead Chris Matthews. Tell me how Hillary Clinton won’t do your show because you’re a horrible sexist. Can I offer you some cheese to go with this wine?
I can’t even get properly outraged about things. Everyone else is so passionate, instead I’m telling the election “not tonight” as I roll over to my side of the bed, leaving the election alone to masturbate to Sean Hannity.
The last time I genuinely felt an emotion was in Cold Stone Creamery where early 90s anti-gang violence song “Self-Destruction” was playing and when Kool Moe Dee rapped “I never, ever ran from the Ku Klux Klan and I shouldn’t have to run from a black man,” I found my eyes getting watery.
Damn you, current rappers! Gang violence is tearing up US cities and the best you can do is provide a soundtrack screaming “Pimps up, hoes down and pass me that Courvoisier so I can pour it all over this fine Cartier jewelry while screaming, ‘I make it rain!”
There was a time when rappers actually gave a shit or at least had the decency to discourage gang/drug violence. Not create grand arias to it.
But I digress.
I care, but then I don’t care about campaign 2008. How can I get worked up over Jeremiah Wright when I still think Hillary Clinton has no path to the nomination. How can I care when a million Wrights does not equal two wars, a shitty economy and having George W. as your BFF. Sure, the shit didn’t help any, but I’m sure shaking a tail feather at the Press Club seemed like a real good idea at the time. Just to rub it in people’s faces.
Still, I’m tired of all the outrage, especially the mock outrage, that has driven everyone else nutso.
Seriously? Bitter-gate? Aren’t we insulting previous fake-gates like Monica-gate and File-gate? And can the press write about a controversy without adding “-gate” to it?
Is this my … tired of the bullshit-gate?
I look back on things I used to care about. Film. Art. “Grey’s Anatomy.” Music.
Robert Downey Jr. keeps winking at me, beckoning me to leave my politicking aside and have a wild, one-afternoon-stand with “Iron Man.” Which I’m totally going to do, even though it will be over with in about two-hours. And after that triple “X” throw down is done I’ll waddle home to the election who will still be there like a lump on the couch, sucking on a beer while Hillary Clinton and Bill O’Reilly do shots of Patron. And the kitchen will be ransacked because someone let the Washington Press Corps in and George W. is snorting up all the good coke on my coffee table when he knows I was saving that for Naomi Campbell. All the while his secret service agent hits on me … again.
The election keeps telling me that someday he’ll be over. That he’s going to leave me and take up with who ever becomes president next year and maybe that’s true and maybe that means that someday I might miss him.
But someday ain’t tonight. Please turn off the light when you’re done.
Live Your Best Life. 
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