… and it would appear that being slightly less bad than the other guy is not a compelling elevator pitch.
I don’t think anybody mentioned the midterm elections in my hearing — my physical hearing, that is, in the 3D world — but all my friends were tearing up Facebook about it. This seems appropriate, since Facebook is the Valhalla of the inconsequential.
I actually know people who voted in New York, for Heaven’s sake, and not even for Howie Hawkins. They’re being secretive about who they did vote for, but I bet it was that Lovecraftian tentacle-faced monster Andrew Cuomo. I’m sure they did it on one of the sockpuppet lines — Working Families or the other one, the women one, and no doubt this gambit will have appeared to send some kind of message.
In fact it does send a message, but not, perhaps, the one intended. The message Cuomo and his ilk will have heard is that there are a few gulls who require an extra layer of candy-coating, and that this is easily supplied.
On the boat the other day I heard on the radio — our local NPR affiliate, of course — a rather genteel mud-rassle between a representative of the Working Families Party and another from the other one, the women party. Both spokespersons, as it happens, were women, so although the Woman Card was played relentlessly, it sounded like a tie to me, after a rather dull, listless bout. Even the mud seemed bored, and volunteered only the most perfunctory sucking sounds. And neither of the contenders seemed to give a shit, really.
Both of them agreed that Cuomo was a deplorable person — or no, that’s not quite right. What they seemed to agree on was that Cuomo was two people, a nice Andy and a nasty Andy, and although we have only seen Nasty Andy since he was inaugurated, Nice Andy is still barely alive, though deeply sedated, somewhere in the Cuomo brainstem. Both sockpuppets promised to bring back Nice Andy by — guess what? — “holding Cuomo’s feet to the fire”.
This is a very popular phrase among Democratic Party fellow-travelers, and of all the wolf tickets one has ever been offered, it requires the deepest discounting — on a par with Confederate bonds, really.
The Workaday Women’s party or parties in fact have no fire, and wouldn’t light one if they could, and they have no grip on anybody’s feet. If they were ever in a position to spoil an election for a Democrat, and willing to do so, this feet-to-the-fire trope might have some plausibility. But they obviously are not able, or willing, to do that, so feet and fire will never meet.
I remain astonished at the need people feel to vote. I can only conclude that it’s some sort of superstitious practice, like carrying a rabbit’s foot. Quite invulnerable to reason.