Hold the phone

I’m writing this on the eve of the election for the Jeff Sessions senate seat in Alabama, and it would obviously be lovely and wonderful if the very decent Doug Jones won that seat. It would be pure political gravy to steal that seat from the unrelentingly assholific Retrumplican Party. But if we lose this one, well—ho hum. Ya know? I mean, let’s slurp a hearty reality pale ale. Contrary to all the media coverage, contrary to all the fundraising phone calls, contrary to all the email come-ons, Decent Doug losing to Lechy Roy isn’t all that much of a political disaster. In fact, it’s not a disaster at all.

If there are six seats you can write off in every session of the Senate, it’s the two senators from Mississippi, Alabama and South Carolina. Rock solid redneck Refuglicans. So to win this one would be totally the superest. (I’m guessing Jones has a 20 percent chance.) But if not, the fabric of space/time will recover quickly.

Speaking of the phone calls, the assault has been relentless. Aagh. It’s enough to make one seriously consider a good budget for a custom ringtone. But I keep my landline going for a good reason—because 90 percent of the calls that ring me up on that one think I’m Mr. Dyke, so the landline has turned into a valuable decoy. Sure, I’ll pick up every once in a while and chat with the folks, but I usually just ride it out for all three rings until the machine picks up.

I do seem to remember a wacky time in the hazy swamp of yesteryear when we would actually answer every phone call! I’m serious. Every one. We were nuts back then.)

There’s an interesting new concept beginning to float around, a concept with a name that feels right for right now. This concept would be sado-populism. Where the sado-populist administration doesn’t actually do anything for you, or give you anything. It takes stuff away, it prevents, it suppresses, it basically delivers pain. But the trick is to make certain segments feel less pain than others, which makes the folks feeling less pain feel OK about themselves when compared to the poor slobs who are really struggling and flailing and can’t afford decent legal help.

So, yes, sado-populism, where we give you a new “health plan” that will mean death for many, where we give you “tax reform” that has rich fux fondling their monocles in twitchy delight. (Cut to a dreamy blonde in a luxurious bubble bath. “Sado-populism—take me away!”)