This coming Monday is Presidents Day, or Washington's birthday (observed), which happily coincides with National Apathy Day; a day for reflecting on the sheer pointlessness of voting for Presidential candidates of any political persuasion except, perhaps, representatives of the Ruritanian Reunification Coalition.
The current resident of the White House, a strangely tinted emanation of disreputable Goetian conjuration, does not appeal. The enjoyment of golf is always a deal-breaker for me, ditto the wearing of baseball caps with a suit, and double-ditto the application of self-tanning creme to the face. These may seem trivial reasons to you but they are hills of varying size upon which I am prepared to die.
His potential "Democratic" challengers, meanwhile, pace back and forth upon the deck of the Ship of Fools, some posing as the figurehead, others barely clinging to the rigging, and quite a few already forced to walk the plank. Joe Biden is the Cap'n Ahab of this unseaworthy vessel, doggedly pursuing the great white whale of his own political legacy until he shipwrecks everyone.
So I shall spend my Presidents Day watching a Three Stooges marathon, reminding myself that in the binary world of American politics there are really only two stooges, neither of whom, alas, is the silent one.
