Master of puppets Im pulling your strings
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams
Blinded by me, you cant see a thing
Just call my name, `cause Ill hear you scream -- Metallica
My use of the word "wretched" plus the quoting of dour, hopeless metal lyrics can mean only one thing...
Sooz is Back!
My name is Susan, and I'm an addict -- a political junkie. I've been on a bender that I wish would end.
Actually, everyone wishes it would end.
Except for me. I need material, and I can handle the emotional abuse.
The vast amounts of time and money already spent on this election are obscene, and I've contributed my small share of both. I'm powerless over my addiction. (Note to candidates: Don't call, I'm trying to quit.)
Well, Sooz, it's easier to quit this addiction than many of the substance-based ones. Whereas beating those addictions requires the penitent to complete 12 steps, this affliction requires only one:
1. Get a life.
Like most binges, at first this one was a real high. My side had a line-up of bright and well-qualified candidates who displayed a grasp of issues as dazzling and varied as their life experiences. They were upbeat and articulate, and they spoke of a better America, facing its challenges with intelligence and courage.
Pffft. You guys have 3 lawyers, 2 whack jobs and 1 Whatever Bill Richardson is. And none of them had any more command on the "issues" beyond "Change!™" Spare me the bullshit, Sooz. If John Edwards had an R behind his name, you'd likely (correctly for a change) describe him as a "well-coifed charlatan; a used car salesman with better taste in clothing." Because that's exactly what he is.
The Republicans, in contrast, had a bunch of musty middle-aged men who seemed to have stumbled into the light of the 21st century like time travelers from a long-gone era, unsure if they were at a revival meeting or a war-games convention. Other than the deceptively affable Mike Huckabee, they spoke with one voice of a cowering America, fearful of Islam and the immorality of -- others. They radiated a mean streak a mile wide and ideas an inch deep.
I don't think even Sooz knows what she's talking about here. Such is the case when you inhabit some world which exists solely inside of your own mind that relies on you maintaining as little contact as possible with those whom you fear (yet somehow feel superior to) to remain in existence.
Like any addict, I figured more was better and wrote another check.
Like any addict, when indulging her addiction, she's a miserable person. Maybe it's not her fault. Maybe the system made her. The system in which normally rational people decry conditions of poverty and the lack of health insurance and then donate millions (billions?) of dollars not to organizations that can address the problems, but to politicians, PACs and parties to help get some jerk elected so that the jerk can then force someone else to pay to fix the problem.
The more I think about it, the more it makes me sick.
Imagine if those 15 donations totaling well over $10,000 your household made last year would have instead gone to a food shelf, a health care trust, er - breast cancer research (HINT HINT) or - God forbid - an investment in a small business. Multiply that by all those people that waste that much or more money on funding campaigns, and you're talking some serious resources.
I hazard to guess that there'd be enough money diverted to worthy causes to end the Democratic Party for good.
Sooz can't have that. She needs the rage.
Sooz. Bubbie. Have a beer and get a fucking life.