While I started out to preamble this post with a parody anecdote of a doctor’s visit where I was diagnosed with an ugly but not (generally) fatal disease, something came up to change my mind. For a little context, I should relate something else that happened about eight or so years ago.
I reconnected with a high school classmate after thirty years without contact. Life, you know? We corresponded for several years. Well-educated and very intelligent, he wrote insightful emails and we argued politely back-and-forth on a number of topics. He was liberal. As you can guess, I tend to be conservative. It came out he was gay. Didn’t bother me, I suppose because before that revelation I learned who he really was and that was dandy with me. He did not try to convert me to any true religion. Neither did I attempt to proselytize. When he visited my city to speak at a LGBTQ convention, he stayed with us here.
He returned to his north Left-Coastie home. Fast forward, to presidential election time. The last one, not this one. His candidate was treated poorly by his own people, his own party. This incensed my friend. Out of the blue [snicker] he informed me he could no longer communicate with me.
What? I pressed for an answer as to why. His response went like this:
You, he told me. are conservative. He elaborated. Conservatives, Republicans especially, were, and apparently still are. the cause of all the troubles in this country and indeed, in the world. I was told I was a Republican.
That was news to me. I dropped trou and looked. There were no signs that I could see. But then, what does one look for? A tattoo? A birthmark? Localized swelling? Excess hair?
Summarizing, because as a Republican I couldn’t figure it out for myself, he said I was a conservative, a Republican, therefore he could no longer communicate with me.
Well, hell, that kinda makes sense to me. Whoa. Wait. No. It doesn’t. Didn’t then; doesn’t now.
Nonetheless, I’ve honored my exile.
You understand, I worry over my intelligence, my value as a human being. If, that is, I am a Republican.
Then. There was last night. The circus. Three clowns. I wore out two pencils writing down the falsehoods I intended to follow-up on. It took less than five minutes after the center ring was occupied to become apparent it was going to be business-as-usual. Innuendo. Ignoring facts. Dodging issues. Answering accusations with counteraccusations. “You did!” “I did not!” “Did so!” “Liar, liar, liar!”
Can we void the political licenses the two (primary) combatants hold? Bar them from politics for life?
While we’re at it, can we railroad the Ringmaster off to a cabin in the Northwoods to contemplate his navel? Perhaps he should have a chaperone, someone to explain to him what his navel is and where he stands a good chance of finding it? Suspect if he goes looking without a guide, he might end up looking in an unpleasant place.
LODD is what I got
I knew I was ailing, my faculties failing, but didn’t know just what I had.
Went to the doc, imagine his shock, when I told him just why I felt bad:
“Hard as I’m trying, I can’t stop this lying; my friends are all running away.”
“I’m spending a lot, of cash I ain’t got, and looking for others to pay.”
“Oh but there’s more, got symptoms galore, each an embarrassing habit.”
“I’m never to blame, I stay unashamed; it’s the other guy’s fault dag-a-nabbit!”
“Facts I deny, and if pushed to say why, I state something even far worse.”
“Doc, a diagnosis, and then the prognosis; am I doomed with this terrible curse?”
I peed in a cup, some blood I gave up; the techs there then ran all the screens.
Old Doc sat me down and said with a frown, “It’s L-O-D-D that it means.”
This puzzled me true, and then as on cue, I sneezed a pants-soiling sneeze.
“The truth,” said the Doc, “is here’s what you’ve got, Late Onset Democrat Disease.”
“Right now there’s no cure, of that we are sure, the best we can get is remission.”
“If you follow this plan, we’ll do what we can, to waltz this curse to submission.”
He snatched up his pad, scribbled like mad, then sent me off, my mind reeling.
Near home I did stop, at my chemist’s shop, and waited, the wait un-appealing.
The pharmacist there, seemed to not care; she struck me a bit of a jerk.
She gave me the pills, to cure my new ills, and with them the ugliest smirk.
That messed with my head, so to her I said, “What is it you find so amusing?”
She said, “Had it once, it stayed on for months, made all of my life too confusing.”
The pills that I’m taking, have slowed-up the shaking; I’m feeling a mite courageous.
One fear yet remains, and sorely it pains – do I consider myself still contagious?
Friend’s hands I don’t shake, it’s all for their sake; I ask them to bear with me, please.
Don’t want to spread this god-awful dread, this insidious Democrat disease.
© SPWilcenski 2020