Pox Americana…

It’s convention season… whatever that means here in the belly of a plague year. When I was a kid, I’d watch both party’s conventions from gavel to gavel, utterly fascinated by the process. I still have a morbid fascination with how we go about formally selecting our candidates, but the chances of me watching more than the highlights reel this year are stuck firmly between slim and none.

It’s not just that this year’s conventions are going to be devoid of the flash and show that are typical. It’s more that there’s just not that much new to learn about the parties or the candidates.

I’ll hate every tax increasing, gun grabbing, self-righteous woke-ism spewed from the Democrats. I’ll loath and despise the Republicans for every step they take away from the small government, low taxes, and anti-deficit positions that use to define the party. 

For the two weeks of political infomercials, I expect to see almost nothing that would convince me to vote for a candidate instead of a litany of why I should vote against the other guy. Maybe I’m too cynical a man in too cynical an age, but I’m going to need more than that if anyone wants me to get excited about politics again.

Feel free to ring me up when they start talking about any of my issues. Until then it’s a pox on both their houses.

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