How the frontrunners stole my joy

It has finally happened. For the first time in my thirty … something … years … I am sick — I mean really sick — of politics.

No, scratch that.

I still love politics — the sport of it, and the import of it. What I’m sick of is this presidential campaign, at least on the Democratic side. The nasty, no-holds-barred trench warfare between camps Clinton and Obama is wearing me out. Hell, I didn’t even blog about the Nevada outcome (Hillary won, did ya hear?) And that’s just not like me.

But I didn’t, because I’m sick of the both of them. I’m sick of hearing about how one is a liar and a dishonest, racist reprobate (and her husband, too) and how the other is a phony who really wasn’t against the war. I’m tired of the back and forth charges, including everything from voter intimidation and suppression to … oh hell, whatever.

I’m sick of the Congressional Black Caucus fighting with one another over which side of history they ought to be on.

For that matter, I’m sick of the increasingly polarized racial politics surrounding the Democratic primary.

I’m sick of hearing (and saying) how pathological Chris Matthews’ hatred of the Clintons appears to be.

I’m really sick of John Edwards. Would someone please yank that son-of-a-mill worker into a back room and billy club him until he agrees to drop out of the race? Dude, you aren’t going to be president! Get over it already. Jeez… (Oh, and Politico? How can Edwards be king maker if he has no freaking delegates with which to make a king!!!????) God, just stop giving him attention, it just encourages him!

Damnit, I’m just sick of this primary season.

For god’s sakes, can one of the frontrunners win the damn thing already and put the other on the ticket, heal the party, and get on with campaigning against John McCain … or Mitt Romney … or whoever…? Just wake me when it’s over, will you?

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