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Jeff Whitten: Dumb, dumber
editor's notes

First, the dumb stuff.

We’re fixing to get into candidate forum territory – you know, those excruciatingly long events when candidates get up there and tell us how they’ll save the world from their opponents.

The one thing that goes unsaid is what makes a candidate think he or she can do it when so many people in front of him or her messed it up so royally already.

After all, everybody agrees we’re in a mess, they just don’t agree on what kind of mess it is and who to blame, they just know it isn’t them. And they can fix it, or they know of somebody who can.

In the meantime, regular Democrats blame Republicans and Fox News and Donald Trump for our collective woes.

At the same time, regular Republicans blame liberal tax and spend policies that create lazy people living off taxpayers, which means you can’t get your oil changed or air conditioner fixed without going on a 3-month waiting list because nobody knows how to do anything and even if they did they’re too busy vaping and stealing copper to bother with a job.

Crazy Democrats blame all of Western Civilization.

Crazy Republicans blame Democrats and space aliens and RINOs, which is short for Reverse Into Neptune’s Orbit, or Randy Is Not Oblong, or Really Interesting Now Obfuscate.

No, that’s not it. Crazy Republicans actually apply that label to moderate Regular-sized Republicans, and I am led to believe it means Roosters Invaded Northern Ohio and made it uninhabitable. That explains why most of Ohio is in now in South Bryan, also known in some circles as Salt Life Sticker, New Ohio.

Kidding. RINO means Research Into Nimptynumpty Oompa-loompas. Nope, not that either, though oompa loompa orange is a skin tone once popular amongst the right wingers.

Kidding. RINO actually means Republicans in Name Only, or Regular Introductory Normally Ordinary ... Republicans.

In other words, RINOS are the sort who haven’t gone native yet, meaning they’re not the sort of Republicans you get when you leave them in the microwave too long. Or did I get that backwards? Never mind. Hah.

Oh, and we can’t print what RINOS call those who call them RINOS. They won’t tell anybody for fear of He Who Must Not Be Crossed. Me, I’m an independent. I have voted both sides of the aisle and shall continue that policy. I also think partisanship is going to blow this ship of state out of the water before it’s all said and done.

In the meantime, we’ve got forums. They’re great. Everybody’s special, and everybody has something to offer. It’s what makes this world so wonderful. Besides, if we all agreed, everybody would be a weekly newspaper editor and then we’d be in a world of hurt. But I digress.

Just once, I’d like to hear a candidate say, “Come to think of it, I don’t even know why I’m here, I don’t have any answers, I don’t even know all the questions, but I figured I’d try to help if I can. So vote for me if you want and thank you. And if you don’t want to vote for me I hope you vote for my opponent, even if he or she a pompous, pretentious, big-word using, smelly, gassy, long winded, belching toadfish egg sucking yankee transplant Rust Belt reject from up north who wouldn’t know his or her you know what from a hole in the ground and I’m sure he or she will do a great job.” Maybe soon. Now the dumber stuff.

I had just gotten out of the shower the other night and was looking in the mirror when it hit me, so I had to tell my wife before I forgot.

“Hey,” I said. “Guess what?”’ “What?”

“The older I get, the more I look just like a wise old monkey.”

Nothing. Crickets. “Don’t you agree?,” I asked. She took a look, nodded and said something like, “now that you mention it.”

“Pretty cool, huh,” I said. “Yep,” she said. “Eep eep eep,” I said. “Cowabunga. One banana two banana.”

“Go away,” she said. “Ooga loooga,” I said. “Hey, that means ‘okeydokey’ in chimpanzee.”

At least, that’s how I remember it. My memory is not what it used to be.

On a serious note, I do not know exactly what happens after we get a certain amount of years under our belt and the aging process takes over. I do know some of us, me included, tend to start resembling characters from the original Planet of the Apes movies. The 1970s flicks.

Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, I suppose. It could be worse. I could be Johnny Depp.

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