S. Wiley On Politicians

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By Ken Begley

Do you people remember Mr. Wiley?

 Mr. S. Wiley, or Slick to his friends and the folks at the FBI, is my 93-year-old “personal advisor”, formerly from New York City.  Mr. Wiley used to be my financial advisor until he lost all my money, and that of the rest of his clients.  I’ve been holding him hostage in an attempt to recoup my loses from his loved ones.  However, strangely enough, no one’s come looking for him despite my many ransom letters.
 Anyway I was getting bummed out by everything that was going on in Washington, Wall Street, and Main Street with the economy and all.  So, I decided to turn to Mr. Wiley for some sage words of wisdom that will carry me through the financial and political storm we‘re dancing about in.  After all, Mr. Wiley has seen it all in his 93 years.  So, it was a Sunday morning at breakfast when Mr. Wiley walked into the dining room . . .
 “Hey Ken, why do you look so gloomy?”
 “You crazy old man, how did you get out of those chains I had you locked up in the attic with?  (writer’s note:  ‘Crazy old man’ is a term of endearment I use for Mr. Wiley. So, don’t write me thinking I was being disrespectful.  However, the part about the chains is true.)
 “You should never buy cheap locks, my boy.  You’re being pennywise and pound foolish.  Anyway, why so gloomy?”
 “Well, our leaders in Congress and the rest of the government don’t seem to know how to do anything but argue and fight, while the country sinks down to the ‘bad place’ in a hand basket.”
 “Don’t you worry about it young man!  This is America!   We have the best Congress that money can buy.  Why, they spent 4 billion dollars on those 2010 mid-term elections that nobody cares a rat’s patootie about.  Shoot, no telling how much will be invested to buy the presidency next go around.”
 “Well, how does that help us?”
 “Well, the average senator or congressman is just too plain dumb to know how to tie his own shoe laces,  let alone vote on important stuff like economic policy.  Thank goodness for all the political campaign money.  Why, just as soon as those donors tell their lackeys which way to vote, then you can bet they will count the cash and vote accordingly in an orderly fashion.  After all they’ve been bought and paid for by somebody.”
 “That sure doesn’t seem to be happening right now.  All they do is scream, holler, and call each other a liar.  Why, the other day someone started calling one fellow a ‘traitor’ just because he didn’t agree with him.”
 “Why, that’s amazing!”
 “That he called the guy a traitor?”
 “No, that he even knew what it meant.  Weren’t you listening?   I said they weren’t that smart.”
 “Why do we keep electing these guys anyway?”
“Because they look good in a suit or skirt.  Yes sir, they may be dumber than a box of rocks, but they look and sound good on the outside and that gives us confidence, even if they’re about to drive us right off a cliff.  At least we’ll feel pretty darn good up until that great big thud we’ll make when we hit the ground.  That’s what counts in an American political campaign.  What really amazes me is how so many mouths, with so many gold fillings, could say so many worthless things.”
 “Why, Mr. Wiley, that sounds awful.  You’re not disparaging the leadership of the greatest country in the world are you? “
 “Don’t be ridiculous young man.  I’d never cast reflections on the competency of our current noble political institution.”
“Well then, how would you describe our current leadership’s intellectual ability?”
 “Let’s just say our politicians are about as sharp as a marble, a few clowns short of a circus, not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, a few fries short of a Happy Meal, has only one oar in the water, a few beers short of a six-pack, don’t have all their cornflakes in one box, are one Fruit Loop shy of a full bowl, are one taco short of a combination plate, are all foam and no beer, their cheese slid off their cracker, Body by Fisher, brains by Mattel, couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel, fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down, has an intellect rivaled only by garden tools, as smart as bait, doesn’t have all their dogs on one leash, their elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor, forgot to pay their brain bill, and finally the light’s on but nobody’s home.  You know what Ken?  I wish I had a blueprint of the average politician’s brain; I’m trying to build an idiot.”
 “Well, if I didn’t feel very good before now, I’m terrified that we’ll never make the right decisions for our future.”
 “Well, don’t be, Ken, and remember this:  You can always rely on true Americans to do the right thing.”
 “Yes sir, of course that is after we’ve tried everything else first.”