Thursday, January 28, 2016

Election Years depress me

Early during my relationship with Mrs ERJ, she told me that I should be glad when she had PMS.

That was a novel proposition and required a little bit of explaining before I understood.

Mrs ERJ said, "Because of PMS I can guarantee that there will be two days a month when you know EXACTLY what is on my mind."   Generally, Mrs ERJ is as mild as milk and very, very easy to get along with.  There were things I did that annoyed her.  If I was still doing it on day 27, I heard about it.  Problem solved.

Election years depress me

Sites that used to be full of outdoorsy goodness are now riddled with childish sniping, and will be that way right up until Inauguration Day.  I find myself marinated in competing politico's peccadilloes, prophylactics and idiosyncrasies.   I go to sites to read about hunting and fishing and I am treated to stories of marital infidelities, smoky backroom deals, business and personal failures.

Perhaps the most depressing thing is that most of the time I can delude myself regarding our slide toward a totalitarian state.  Election years are like Mrs ERJ's two days a month, the veil of denial is torn.

A simple test: Could you move to a neighboring state and simply disappear?  Could you start over and remake yourself?  How about moving a thousand miles and remaking yourself?

The ironic thing is that illegal aliens do it all the time.  Do you want to become invisible?  Change your name to Mario Diaz and learn to speak Spanish like you were from a Mexican barrio.

I suppose I could move to a city like Huron, South Dakota and apply to be the town drunk, assuming there is a vacancy.  Short of wearing clothes that smell like barf, I can think of no way to disappear.


I will try to fill the gap.  I will try to write more "outdoorsy" stuff and fewer editorials.  I will not apply for any jobs that require fingerprints or DNA samples.

I. Will. Remain. Civil.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming...

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