The Astral Significance of Ralph Nader

There are more serious pathologies in Donkledom than Thanksralphery, but none so consistently hilarious. The conviction that a few thousand fringe characters, rather than the hundreds of thousands of registered Democrats who voted for the Republican candidate, were the wooden stake through the mechanical heart of the electronic Saint Albert Gore is only one of many sharp edges in the cracked ontology of the Democratic faith, and through their many refractions comes light as through a kaliedescope after a good mouthful of mushrooms*. On the other hand, my sympathy for Nader is almost entirely formed of my antipathy for the Donk and all she stands for. Were it not for my underlying pleasure at the ruined chances of Mr. Iraq Liberation Act and his running mate, the Huckleberry Hound, I'd be more hostile, because, at last, the radicalism of your basic Naderite barely dips below the soil; these are people, by and large, who believe in democracy, the sort of campus revisionists who used to insist that just because virtually every instance of the adoption of Marxism-socialism-communism as a practical ideology resulted in vicious, tyrannical dictatorship, well, that didn't mean that wouldn't work if someone would just do it right. The third-party impulse in American politics, of which Nader is the most prominent but not the sole example, is an example of a venal ideological commitment to a system premised on the ridicule, corruption, and destruction of internal dissent. Even to cast oneself as a "protest" candidate and asking supporters to cast a "protest" vote is to reify political obedience as a concrete expression of political will, when in reality all you've done is waste gas and most of your morning in order to play your part in legitimating a farce.

Case in point: I had to pop over to the optometrist today to get a pair of glasses repaired, and on the way a pair of college dudes in bad sandals stopped me and asked if I'd sign a petition to get Nader on the PA ballot. Despite all those nasty things I said just above, I refer you back to my opening, and say simply that yes, I am dyspeptic enough to sign off on such a thing, if only in order to give myself a chance to cackle at other's misfortunes later on. I told the kids that not only would I sign, I would sign many times in many hands, using the names of living friends and relatives, all verifiable, none of whom would balk in the least at this minor act of political vandalism. They met the offer with such looks of horror that even I was momentarily taken aback, thinking maybe I'd murdered a cat, but no, no, that wasn't the case. "That would be . . . fraud," the long-haired one whispered, then hissed, glancing around as if expecting to be overheard. "Fraud!?" said I. You're trying to slide your way into a contest so rigged and fraudulent as to beggar belief in the first place, and beyond that, it's a contest whose design is inherently hostile to you, which sets up extraordinary impediments to your participation at every opportunity, undermining you at every chance with almost sadistic glee. And you're worried about a little ballot-stuffing in a petition whose sole purpose is to get you into the locker room, where at best they'll ridicule your little pecker and stuff you into a locker before heading out onto the fields? Seriously? Fah real?


*Do not write complex, compound sentences on mushrooms. Or go to work on mushrooms.