Primary season is the most joyous time of the political calendar – or it should be. For these are our salad days! An age full-to-bursting with hope and possibility, a glorious moment when we get together to decide whether we want Republicans to spend the next twelve months howling about castrating bull dykes or sleeper cell Manchurian Candidate al-Qaeda agents (although, most likely, we’ll end up getting both at once. Right-wing conspiracies are often marketed in movie pitch form – it’s like Rosie O’Donnell meets 24! – with narrative consistency sacrificed to put bums in seats. Snakes On A Plane, my friends.  Snakes On A Plane.) Sadly, it seems that some people are not enjoying this season as it should be.  I endeavor to help.

Campaign advisors/media consultants/political hacks generally are scumbags.  Noting that one or another candidate’s paid hacks are acting like scumbags is akin to noting that someone’s toilet bowl tastes like fucking ass.  Maybe in a truly perfect world toilet bowls taste like chocolate peanut butter gelato; in the world as it is, however, we generally just keep our mouths out of there and let the theologians worry about why it doesn’t.  Similarly, arguing with someone about whose candidates paid hacks are the most despicable is like spending your days tonguing the hard-to-clean underrim of your opponent’s candidate’s toilet bowl, yelling out to one and all about the ass-nastiest areas you have discovered which provide the conclusive evidence that he or she has the nastiest ass-nast in the history of nasty asses.  I’m not going to tell you how to spend your time, but I’m not going to feel bad for you if you end up in a foul mood.

That is all.