Painting: “If You Think These Times Are Hard, Just Wait Til You Have to Get a Deer Suit to Get Dinner” 2020. Acrylic on canvas, 14 x 30"
I don‘t play tennis but I claim its token malady. Conversely, Senator Ritchie does not always play senator but claims all of its perks.
I believe that the senate job comes with an awesome responsibility, like raising 300,000 kids under one roof. You cannot possibly love them all the same, but it’s your duty to maintain a happy and healthy home. Most days the position afflicts with an acute pain in the brain and any good senator should often ponder if the job is worth another minute of forgotten rest and sleep.
The number one reason we have such a people divide these days is for lack of leadership. Politicians love the wardrobe and winnings of the job, but loath and oftentimes shun the awesome responsibility that comes with it. The only issue for any aspiring state senator is the people’s contentment. But for many it has become a good paying gopher job to corrupted machines holding the real power.
That wild outlander at the Fourth of July parade, dressed up like Ronald McDonald wearing a corporate logo cape and gesticulating down the street, was a prophet of the portents that came. The robber barons are here now, in full control, which means we are out of control because the profit motive is insane and the bottom line is a flat one that began as a tornado twister of hard suffering for all of earth’s creatures, bringing unhappy status and wealth to the very few with no strings attached besides thin, frayed threads of mock responsibility.
While status and wealth continue to exist, even after California wildfires engulf the world in flames and smoke, remember the “awesome responsibility” clause in Peter’s bylaws. He has only to check a box before hurdling offenders into a fiery hell, which, in a few decades, won’t make much difference from the one we’ll be living.
We humble humans actually have a down-to-earth, non-supernatural checkbox (with unsaid “awesome responsibility” clause) to shelter us from the greed and graft of modern politicians. It’s called a ballot, and anyone over 18 can mark it like a Peter at Heaven’s gate. A living record of whom you trust enough to keep the family secure from the corporate twisters mopping up our rapidly depleting future.