Tired Messaging

The yard signs are everywhere now, about a month out from the midterm elections. I see groupings of candidate names that have me stereotyping the people who allowed the little placards on their lawns.

So you’re a supporter of Doug Mastriano? Say no more. Then you also will vote for Goldtone Shillmeister if he happens to get the nomination again. The slate of Republican candidates in some districts and states is almost comically (in a sadistic sort of way) horrendous. I can’t understand for the life of me how and why these people hold the views that they do, or that they find such support. It has to be, at least in part, a political calculation born of riding the coattails of, or emulating the former President, which at this point seems ill advised.

No. 45 seems to be slowly fading, becoming yesterday’s and last year’s news. He’s growing desperate now. He’s never had anything to offer, and the people who are still kowtowing to him don’t have anything to offer. Yet they continue campaigning as if they have a chance, proud of what they “stand for.”

Based on polling, it looks like many potential voters recognize Mastriano and Meuser and Dr. Oz and the rest for what they are: opportunists trying to find the right combination of contrived words. Dinosaurs and relics making vacuous promises and standing on a rickety platform propped up with stupefying ignorance and hate.

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