“The first man who hurled an insult instead of a rock founded civilization.” –Sigmund Freud
“Say that one more time and I’ll bury my foot up your ass.” –You
Last Thanksgiving, during one of those philosophical chats for which you never give thanks, I kidded my mother about her absolute devotion to the pro-choice cause. Within seconds, she phoned her gynecologist and had me removed from her condo with a forceps.
On the other side of the political divide, folks are just as humorless. When I suggested that God, like any good creator, agonizes over his handiwork and thinks the theory of intelligent design is a load of crap, some Christians prayed for my demise.
What’s my point? We’re becoming a bunch of extremists. By “we,” I mean you. And by “you,” I mean your political selves–a unique form of frenzied personality disorder–and not necessarily your actual selves.
So, dear extremist, I couldn’t help but notice that your guiding philosophy, whether left or right, is Resentment.
The great fear growing in the conservative breast, is the coming day when the government makes you share a bedroom with an LGBT caucus member. And watch out for a world where you liberals need Rush Limbaugh’s permission to untangle the ultrasound from your thongs.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t disagree with your political opponents. Have at it. Change the channel when you see Bill Maher or Aaron Sorkin or Patricia Heaton or Sean Hannity. Jesus, if I made my viewing choices based on who I agreed with philosophically, I’d be reduced to watching the steam-driven colonics channel.
Have fun with all the pre-election hyperbole but–whether you’re a Wall Street apologist or an Entitlement pimp–just restrain your impulse to silence the other guy. Remember, it was only a few months ago when liberals with digital pitchforks tried to have Rush Limbaugh thrown off the air. Conservatives play the game just as shamelessly by creating Kafka-esque bureaucracies to exclude minority voters.
Maybe this is the time to remind you that we’re having an election, not a bar fight. Let’s not turn into Rwanda or Pakistan–though I’m sure both places are chock full of wonderfulness.
So when the returns come in and your bet pays off, will you meet your opponent in the parking lot, shake hands and collect your winnings with grace? Or force him into the trunk of his car and make him disappear?