I know, it’s only Wednesday, but we’re not going to top this description of a quadrennial revulsion:
The annual State of the Union pageant is a hideous, dispiriting, ugly, monotonous, un-American, un-republican, anti-democratic, dreary, backward, monarchical, retch-inducing, depressing, shameful, crypto-imperial display of official self-aggrandizement and piteous toadying, a black Mass during which every unholy order of teacup totalitarian and cringing courtier gathers under the towering dome of a faux-Roman temple to listen to a speech with no content given by a man with no content, to rise and to be seated as is called for by the order of worship — it is a wonder they have not started genuflecting — with one wretched representative of their number squirreled away in some well-upholstered Washington hidey-hole in order to preserve the illusion that those gathered constitute a special class of humanity without whom we could not live.
It’s the most nauseating display in American public life — and I write that as someone who has just returned from a pornographers’ convention.
A friend of mine, before the “event,” said that she didn’t subject herself to such things anymore:
I used to, believing “This is something grownups are supposed to do.” Now I look to see what’s on Cartoon Network instead.
Which makes perfect sense, since Cartoon Network, unlike the participants in SOTU, has effective adult supervision.