Oh, Hail, No....

 

 Two things, historically, supposedly, sure in life.

Death.

Taxes.

It seems fate has decided that there shall be a reboot of that ancient axiom, expanding it by one for a total of three.

 Death.

Taxes.

Trump.

At this moment, chances are you're either preparing, or bracing, for yet another Donald diatribe, number upteenth million and one of the upteenth million articles, assessments, analysis and/or agonizing 'attacks' on either the person, his qualifications, or lack of, for the office of President of the United States and/or his arguably record setting longest list in history of a single being's character flaws, with applicable failures included at no extra charge.

 

Uh, yeah.

No.

That's not the road I'm traveling this time out.   

Give or take.

This piece is going to do a little Star Trekkin'.

Going where no one has gone before.

I'll leave the 'boldly' up to individual reactions once we're done here.

Here's the thing.

It's time to face (slogan nod to Al Gore) an inconvenient truth.

That the office of President of the United States is now best described by the chant offered up by a weird group of loyalists in one of Rod Serling's darker moments of script and one of actor Burgess Meredith's finer moments among his many.

Let the chant begin.

Obsolete.

Obsolete.

Obolete.

And the optimally ideal action to be taken is to simply eliminate the gig.

(Yes, I know that optimal and ideal are the same thing, but I got a zazzy new Thesaurus for Christmas and I'm taking it out for a proper spin....)

Of course, given that the elimination of the office would require an Everest high pile of debate, discussion, argument, action, amending and all the other falderal associated with any Constitutional diddling, said elimination would be impractical, at best, unlikely, at least, and no fucking way, Jose' in so far as the opinion of the party having their morning Folgers served them in the Oval Office at the time would go.

Especially in a governmental construct that can't even get a fair, reasonable, decent, affordable health care plan for all off the ground.

Let alone build what really amounts to nothing more than a really, really long garden wall.

I mean, really.

So, if shutting down at 1600 Pennsylvania is a negatory, good buddies, let's at least put on our big boy/girl panties and face some unavoidable realities.

The office with the POTUS nameplate on the door, once, at least theoretically, a Stars and Stripes adorned smorgasbord of leadership, ideally equal parts moral, governmental and political, with adequate dollops of pomp, ceremony and symbolism has become as foundationally sound as those old fake store fronts they used to set up on Hollywood back lots. From the front view, a fine hotel, general store, raucous but reasonable saloon and a Marshal's office, complete with symbolic bars in the window.

But from the back view, a popping of the balloon of illusion...a very large, wooden flat prevented from falling over only by several evenly spaced, sturdy, angled pieces of lumber.

Leaning, of course, either hard right or hard left depending, as always, on the eye of the beholder.

Visual confirmation that no matter what the "townspeople" thought, or even imagined was happening in these 'hustling, bustling establishments'....there was really actually nothing of consequence going on "inside".

Nothing at all.

The Founders created the Presidency, history offers us, not so much because of what it was but because of what it was not.

A monarchy.

Royalty.

After all the heartache, heartbreak, blood, sweat and tears of battling Mother England for the right to 'get a place of our own', there wasn't an ice cube's chance on a July Georgia day that the original American 'blueprint' was going to list headquarters as "Buckingham Palace 2.0".

So, that, then, new, much buzzed about production, "The American Experiment" had its opening night curtain raised with the introduction of a character with all of the qualities one could hope for in a 'leading man/hero...

 Ladies and Gentlemen.....President Washington.

Besides, "King" George was already both 'copyrighted' and in use.

Back over there in England. From whence we had cometh.

George III, to be thoroughly accurate.

And "George IV" would lack the fresh newness that the teenage runaway US of A was determined to symbolize.

Not to mention that just the idea of "George IV" would have been much like "Rocky IV".

There it was...but for no really good reason anyone could come up with.

Fast forward to this moment on the timeline.

An additional Everest high pile of good intentions notwithstanding, a serious case can be made that the Presidency, as a concept and in the form it currently takes, has reached its expiration date.

The reasons why are many and varied, and admittedly arguable, but for the purpose of getting to the end of this particular parable, let's give Mame and the Bossa Nova a break and blame it on the earlier mentioned Big Three.

Death.

Not the literal passing of POTUS's so much as there have been, at this writing, only eight out of forty seven who haven't lived to see the next guy solemnly swear.

And 17.02% out of those who have sworn solemnly not making it to the memoir desk ain't bad.

If only statistically.

The death referred to here is that of morals, (minor drum roll)...values....and (major big time drum roll)....character.

More on that momentarily.

Taxes.

Like Murphy's Law and Schrodinger's Cat, there's an, as yet, untitled, undeniable fact in play when it comes to POTUS as it relates to IRS.

People always feel over taxed.

People always blame whoever is in the Oval with overtaxing them.

Taxes, like politicians and Mariah Carey's Christmas song, are not going away any time soon. 

By the by, while we're here and talking about people always feeling over taxed and predictably prepared to place the blame, can we clear up another annoyance when it comes to political observation and summation?

"this time around, the ________Party is going to kick the _____________ Party's ass because....wait for it....voters are angry and frustrated...."

Apologies to John Lennon, here's yet another clue for you all besides the Walrus being Paul.

Voters are always angry and frustrated.

Not always all, but always at least some and any result in any election always results from the number of how many and the political affiliation of the majority of that how many.

And here's a bonus another clue for you all.

Since the founding, America has enjoyed the good luck of having had 44 Presidents who understood that there was a line you simply did not cross, a secret you did not divulge, a bitter pill of truth so hard to swallow that it would, it was thought since the founding, choke the life out of the country itself if it was so revealed and, God forbid, admitted as truth by said President.

That bitter pill?

Life's a bitch. Life is unfair. You may see good fortune. You may live in horrific poverty. Your families may flourish. Your kids might be slaughtered in their class rooms.

Bottom line....apologies to Mick and Keith....

You won't always get what you want.

Because you can't always get what you want.

That's life. That's what all the people say.

All the people except Presidents.

Whose real job....has pretty much always been....knowing the truth....handling the truth...but not telling you the truth. 

At least not the whole truth.

Instead, telling you, even more critically, doing all they could do to inspire you.... to hang in, buck up, dig in, stand tall, stand together, fear only fear itself, ask not what your country can do for you, one nation, under God, from sea to shining sea.

That our job, as red, white and true blue Americans, was (is) to hang in, buck up, dig in, stand tall, stand together, fear only fear itself, ask not what our country can do for us, one nation, under God, from sea to shining sea.

And to do what we could to keep the number of "angry and frustrated" to as small a number as humanly possible.

Because the only thing that keeps a lynch mob from hanging the lynch-ee...or from burning the whole damn town to the ground...is keeping the number of sane, intelligent, rational, loving, caring, sincerely, authentically patriotic townsfolk...higher...than the number of angry, frustrated, hysterical, irrational, suicidal and/or homicidal mob joiners.

Pop quiz....what do you call a lynch mob that passes a certain minimum membership total.

A cult.

And that brings us to the 'new' third, seemingly inevitable item on the age old list of those things which are sure in life.

Death.

Taxes.

Trump.

The 'former President'.

The 45th President.

But wait...didn't I just say that America had had the good fortune of 44 Presidents who knew what need be said and, more critically, knew what should never, ever be said?

Yeah. I did.

Fortune took a flier and luck ran out at 45.

Because 45 had (has) no reservations about letting fly whatever his brain sends to his mouth. No qualms about saying anything or behaving in any way that pleases, satisfies and/or suits his personal whims, privileges and/or pleasure.

Who very likely thinks that 'compunction' means something to do with the proper placement and use of commas in correct punctuation.

And were he just an annoying, but arguably amusing, say, spoiled rich kid turned into spoiled rich man child who lied, connived and conned his way into both fame and fortune, his unwillingness, his inability to serve anyone and/or anything besides himself would be worth a moment or two of sympathetic laughter followed by ignoring him while we got on with our efforts to do what we could to "ask not".

But he's not just that.

And three quarters of a hundred million people think, hope....hell, believe..... that he's going to prove Mick and Keith wrong.

Even though they watched him fail time and time and time again...for four years....four years ago.

Make no mistake, by the way. Adding him to the list with death and taxes is in no way, Jose, meant to imply that he shall rise again, that he shall be that savior that so many 'angry and frustrated' believe will furnish that good fortune, protect their kids and prevent people of any color besides Caucasian from storming our borders to rape and pillage..and "poison our bloodstreams"...

.... while preventing any symbol of faith besides that guy we seem to insist looks just like Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees from deceiving us into an eternity of a thermostat totally stuck on 1000 degrees.

He's included on the list because he simply isn't going anywhere.

He refuses to go away.

And until, or unless, his assigned number of birthdays maxes out or a new loner in a sixth floor window makes headlines, he's determined, even seemingly destined, to be perpetual.

Herpes in human form.

But, the last few moments notwithstanding, this isn't just another MAGAbash essay.

Again, it's a pitch for the idea of getting rid of the office of President of the United States.

Because, in addition to the embarrassment and cheap gold plated joke of what it once was Trump has turned it into, the office itself has become....recue the chant.....obsolete.

Even worse....

Impotent.

The "power" of the office has become illusory. The ability of the office holder to wheel and deal with the savvy of an FDR or an LBJ has gone the way of the Pony Express, eight track tapes and dropping off film at the local Fotomat.

Both sides of "the aisle" in Congress now consist almost solely of self promoting, self profiting, self gratifying, self serving amateurs whose energies are completely depleted on, not serving 'we, the people' but doing only that that assures them of re-election by 'we, the people', so they can continue to make a lifelong career out of self promoting, self profiting, self gratifying and self serving.

Yeah, yeah, there are, to be fair and accurate, decent, caring and well intended House members and Senators who deserve recognition and credit for wanting to make life better for "the American people".

But one Jimmy Stewart gone to a Washington, under the iconic dome that houses nearly six hundred future Fox News contributors does not an effective system of governing make.

And let's not even incite the entire feminine population of North America with the three word phrase that pays.

Roe.

Wade.

Supremes.

Obviously, any notion that the Oval Office would ever offer up a lot of cool historically remarkable pieces of furniture in a "Going Out Of Business" sale is as much pipe dream as the idea that the median IQ level of reality television will ever even move the needle at all, let alone in an increasing direction.

In lieu of shuttering, let's just presume to speak for a vast majority of "we, the people" and offer that we would be willing to settle for this 'compromise'.

Move heaven and Earth to keep Donald Trump from ever again putting his hand on a Bible in front of a large crowd and "swearing" an 'oath'.

Unless, of course, it's in a big room with a robed dude/dudette sitting at a big desk in the front of that room with a gavel in their hand.

And as to who 'so, help me, God's' from that every four year platform on the back side of the Capitol building?

Any decent, caring, intelligent, authentically patriotic citizen who's available will suffice.

Oh, they won't be able to accomplish much of anything given the sordid, slimy mess that the rest of the E Pluribus operation has become.

They would, in fact, almost surely be nothing more than a symbolic figurehead.

But if we're going to have to settle for an ineffective, useless symbolic figurehead.

Let's go with a Jimmy Stewart who inspires.

And take a hard pass on the bloated bully who hasn't got a clue when, or how, to keep his mouth shut.