So There I Was Standing on the Fiscal Cliff

Whenever I am standing on the edge of a cliff, I just love it when everyone around me starts fighting. What a fun circus. I maintain that we have wars and a two party system because people like to fucking fight. And if there is peril, like falling off a cliff, all the better. Those are the kind of movies we enjoy, too! I like to fight. Sort of. But it’s more like this: “Rub my feet.” “No, I’m tired.” “Do it now or I’ll have an affair.” Or “Make me pork chops.” “You make yourself some pork chops.” “Fine. I won’t eat.” Little things like that. Of course, no one ever really wins in any fight. And it’s all posturing. In 19 years of intermittent foot rubbing, I’ve never had an affair. And I never stop eating. It’s brain chemicals. I think people want to ramp things up in order to feel alive. So they fight. Near cliffs. And if they can get their constituents back home cheering, they fight, near a cliff, with huge waves of energetic support. I think all this talk that Romney and Obama were dirty fighters during the campaign is a bunch of bullshit. Democrats learned that being dainty is useless and they are fighting as filthily as the Karl Roveians. Fine. No one really gets hurt. It’s all a game. Boys bearing their teeth and strutting their energy is fully acceptable in a crass society, which ours is, clearly. So as they continue to posture and poke and each other in the eyes and pull the chairs out from under each other while they try to sit, and drop the occasional bucket of pig’s blood on each other’s heads—it’s really just a show. And they love it. What show-offs. But we’re a plumage kind of species. Keep buying tickets.