Since the Ol’ Pussy Grabber grabbed the country by the pussy, we’ve frequently heard indirectly from Congressional Repubes that they don’t like what he’s doing, but they are powerless to stop it. Rumor and speculation were especially rampant during the sham impeachment kangaroo court presided over by John Roberts and orchestrated by Smitch SmcConnell. You remember the one where before it even started Smitch, the high-breasted queen, Sister Lindsey, and other prominent Senate Repubes declared that they wouldn’t look at any evidence but would vote to acquit in their trial. And, the rank and vile Repubes sucked their teeth and clutched their pearls and declared themselves concerned and worried and gave the Ol’ Pussy Grabber their fiercest tsk-tsking! Then some talking head or Senate Democrat would go on the TV and claim that the Senate Repubes just hate it all, but are afeared for their job as senator, so they can’t do nothing to stop it.
Do you remember all of that. It seems oh, so long ago, which is a feature not a flaw in the design: just bury whatever happened yesterday as deeply and quickly in the shit that is happening today so everyone will forget it and become too damn weary of it all to even bother any more. Sounds like a strong foundation to run a democracy on, right?
The plight of the pitiful Senate Repubes got me to reflecting on their pitiful plight, and it reminded me of an old adage that we used when I worked in the mental health industry: You have poor mental health, when you feel like you don’t have any options.
It was a useful insight to use with your clients when they were at the end of the rope. It directed you help them to develop options. I will always remember the time when I was a very young man and had a shitty busboy job at a restaurant that put the grease on the spoon. Christ served up on a shingle, I hated that job, the restaurant, the people who worked there — except for that one waitress who was always nice to me — and the people who ate there. Boy, did those people really irritate me.
Then, there was that blessed day, when I realized that I could just quit and get another shitty job at another shitty place. And, suddenly, everything was just a little easier to take. Every little annoying confounding flabergaslighting experience could be countered with, That’s okay, I can just quit. I, ladies and gentlemen, had options!
So, the Senate Repubes find themselves painted into a corner, but they are holding the can of paint and the paintbrush! It’s a corner they’ve painted themselves into. They fear acting on their principles — we presume they are democratic principles, but suspect that maybe they are just protesting too much — and oppose the authoritarian ways of the Ol’ Pussy Grabber and Smitch, but they can’t because they will be primaried and no longer be a senator! And, think of the tragedy that would be! How could the country survive if Ben Sasse weren’t the junior Repube senator from the pimple on Smitch’s ass? We can’t expect them to stand up to the full weight of the Ol’ Pussy Grabber’s mean tweets and the flying monkey brigade that they help create and keep going.
Either they must have some of the worst mental health in the country, downright depressed, because of their situation or it is a solid case of the Hamlets and the ladies are just protesting too much.
I think it’s the latter. And, as we watch all of our democratic institutions swirling around the toilet bowl that the country has become, I can’t help but think of another solution to their depression at being so helpless and hapless.