Mother, what a frightening spectacle.

Student Body Government elections are freakish annual occurrences- the sort of event that would drive environmentalists mad with grief. Posters and tape litter every inch of the campus quad, an apocalyptic wasteland of dead tree pulp and poisonous chemical ink. The faces are relentlessly cheerful, eyes glazed over with nary a spark of wicked intelligence or the sort of bent humor that separates the Aware from the Sleeping. It’s the sort of optimism that freaks me out the worst- optimism founded upon a base of severe cluelessness.

Why are they all so… rotund?! The student body around these parts are much like any other American campus- vastly diverse, with that depressing cultural bent towards the overfed. But these posters disturb the shit out of me- the blank eyes are bad enough, but in context of their… their piggishness. Is it just a trick of photography? Maybe staying up until two in the morning, working on yet another half-assed attempt at literary immortality, was a bad idea, and the horrific sense of domesticated animals being led to the slaughter that seems to emanate from these posters… it must be the sleep deprivation.

The problem with writing Gonzo for me is that stepping into that twisted sense of clarity and humor that seems to define this writing style necessitates some rather egregious psychological self-mutilation. There’s a sort of razor’s edge between the functional gonzo state and being merely crazy with lack of sleep. Perhaps having only four hour’s rest between one day and the next has pushed me over that razor’s edge, and-

Fuck.

Fucking hell. I did not just see that. No, it’s still there, that empty plastic smile surrounded by a creepy green halo. Fuck. What the hell is with my peers?! What sort of deluded, drugged-altered state was necessary to conceive of this?! Of what did they imbibe, of what did they partake, to make this seem like a good idea? What a horrid, vivid shock upon my ocular neurons. Whomever thought that melding a fat girl’s face onto Shrek’s obese green form was a good campaign ad was either playing a cruel joke on the girl, a cruel, vicious and mean joke upon an unsuspecting and altogether too-trusting naïve little girl, or is clearly an abuser of a number of substances that would have the hard fist of the government come crashing down on him or her with a whole plethora of felony charges.

My eyes hurt, and it definitely isn’t just because of the lack of sleep now. What a cruel trick to play on the girl- what a horrid assault upon the random pedestrian.

My Goddess, no wonder nobody half-intelligent runs for office. No wonder they all seem like pigs to the slaughter. This is just a more blatant symptom of the problem. To put yourself up for public ridicule like this, to set yourself up to be betrayed by friends, foes and strangers alike off a bad photograph, off a hastily planned ad blitz, is a chump’s game. The only sort of person that could possibly perform competently in the political arena- and arena it is, with all the bloodshed, gore and mutilation it entrails- er, entails- is the same sort we could never trust anywhere within fifty miles of the nuclear code and the Big Red Button. The sort of black-humored, vicious-hearted, cynical and cunning bastards that are competent enough to get anybody to do anything they want anyhow, and smart enough to avoid the limelight along the way. Democracy itself is a chump’s game, a popularity contest writ large and underlined twice, where the price to be the king is what made you king in the first place.

And still nobody’s thought of a better alternative.

Mahalo,

Gonzo Mehum the First, Pope

Erisian Noosphere of North America

HAIL HAIL ERIS ERIS ERIS