Tonight I was watching the results come in for the U.S. House 6th Congressional District race here in Georgia. The District, which is a bizarre mélange of East Cobb, North Fulton, and Northwest DeKalb Counties, has a classic partisan blend of 49 percent conservative, 49 percent liberal, 1 percent moderate (at least I think there’s moderate in there – my brethren may have been beaten to death with election pamphlets), and 100 percent wackadoodle! The Democratic nominee, Jon Ossoff, was going head-to-head with a Republican field consisting, quantity wise, of just a few more people than allowed in a Major League baseball lineup card. Among the candidates on the Republican card are GOP power brokers Karen Handel, Dan Moody, and about ten or so other names which escape me at the moment because each and every single one is trying to “out-conservative” the other. Also, it’s rumored a Chicken Salad Sandwich was a candidate as well, but it’s likely that candidate failed to capitalize on the “Chik-Fil-A” vote.
FYI: Nobody really knows what the fuck the word “conservative” really means anymore, though a crack team of scientists who are attempting to prove it means more than just being lockstep behind President Donald Trump are believed responsible for the recent buckled pavement incident on I-20.
But I digress. A Republican elected official from right here in the great Peach State was quoted in an article on Salon.com as saying that the 6th District would be hard for Jon Ossoff to win because it wasn’t drawn in a way that a Democrat should be able to win it. This official, who repeated told the writer “Do NOT quote that,” has since vanished and is believed to involved in helping Sean Spicer remove his foot from his mouth. It should be noted that it was Salon which called Pasco County, Florida “ground zero for weird,” so that makes it a highly reliable source based on that astute assessment alone. Either way, this is a clear example of everything which is wrong with politics in America. We have become so focused on “us versus them,” we have failed to realize that “they” really are after “us,” “we” have become “them,” “you” and “I” are always before “e,” except after “c,” and the “cats” like to chase the “rat” which got stuck in the “hopper” at the something called “Congress.”
Of course, this pales in comparison to a recent Red Alert received from our alert crack staff of trees and shrubs reporting from Walker County, Georgia (Now Hiring for the Position of Chief Sleazebag – apply at Scott Whitfield’s Office.) Apparently, the newest issue with this picturesque county, now teeming with Bealls Outlet and Food City locations, is that its Emperor, Supreme Overlord and Righteous Judge of House Values, Scott Whitfield, has ruled that so-called “Micro Houses,” cannot be constructed in Walker County because they cannot meet county building codes (or some crazy ass shit like that.) Whitfield, when questioned by local news outlets about the decision, simply ran back into his 300,000 square foot home, opened the curtains in the upstairs gallery, and screamed “Neener, neener!” Walker County officials continue to decline comment, as well as disavowing all knowledge of their paychecks being approved by Whitfield.
But wait, there’s more!
Yes folks, our friends to the south in Florida are at it again. This time, one of Florida’s most well-known and respected news outlets, WTSP-TV in St. Petersburg, has decided to change their entire newscast to something which capitalizes on the impact of social media using “viral trending news.” Their goal, according to a release which reads like something akin to Kim Jong-Un’s bedroom fantasy, is to make the station’s newscasts more contemporary and similar to such “viral news” as TMZ which, as you all know, is the crack news team which broke stories such as Kanye West’s choice of cologne while punching other men, and Brad Pitt’s underwear size and butt cheek diameter.
Still, none of these compares to the travesty of electoral justice going on here in Georgia as Jon Ossoff and the GOP-Flavor-of-Month-Candidate get ready to compete with each other for the coveted Right-To-Piss-Off-Paul-Ryan. I’d run for that position myself, but my van down by the Chattahoochee River was repossessed after I attempted to pay off the title pawn company with a tiny house full of my own skeletons (recent market value: the GDP of Bakersfield, California). I’m still trying to find out if the pawnbroker is actually Scott Whitfield or not. It wouldn’t surprise me. Then again, maybe it is Dan Moody or Karen Handel.
Or the Chicken Salad Sandwich. You never really know.