Some things should be obvious
By Jon Worley

I hate to keep harping on the election (presidential, y'know?) and all, but I'm always dumbstruck by how stupid politicians can be. Remember: These are the folks who run for election for a living. Sometimes I find it hard to believe.

The last time a presidential election came down to two fairly well-run campaigns (and thus was in part a real election about ideas) was 1980. Yeah, Carter shot himself in the foot, but he did that as president, not as a candidate. I disagree with the path the majority of Americans chose that year, but at least there was some drama election night.

Since then, we've had the noble, but clueless (Mondale, 1984), the geeky and spineless (Dukakis, 1988) and the just plain absent (Bush, 1992). I was working for the Clinton campaign in Kansas City in 1992 (paid by some sort of soft money from a local fat cat, but who's counting?). Yes, I donned a chicken suit and danced around the courthouse in Independence, Mo. (where the statue of Harry Truman stands). I didn't, however, wear the suit at Royals' Stadium. Baseball is too sacred to me to mix it up with politics. And besides, the county gendarmes didn't allow us to demonstrate there.

But that part is irrelevant. We spent long days and nights wondering why the hell George Bush wasn't doing anything as a political candidate. The night of the first debate, Tom Harkin (the esteemed Iowa senator) stopped by to provide analysis for the KC television stations. We asked him what he thought of Bush's non-campaign. He didn't understand either.

And Bush lost. As he should have. And as he probably wanted. Graves' Disease sucks, and I suspect the presidency doesn't ameliorate the symptoms.

Anyway, now we're stuck in 1996 with a candidate who seems to push all the wrong buttons at all the wrong times. Yes, folks, the Bobster, Bob Dole himself.

By the way, I'm with Paul Simon in my opinion of the Bobster. If he's elected, I won't run screaming to Canada. I think Bob Dole is good people. But I'm not voting for him.

All spring, the Bobster faced nasty polls which had him trailing the Prez by a rather huge margin. Didn't matter to the GOP faithful, of course. He rolled through the primaries with nary a glance back (or forward).

And then political masterstroke #1: He resigned from the Senate. A great idea, and it worked. His numbers rose. But as soon as people started warming to the Bobster, he made a few speeches in the south. Talked a bit about tobacco. "I'm not sure it's addictive," he said.

Well, he's right and he's wrong. Most tobacco components, when smoked, aren't addictive. But nicotine is even more addictive than heroin (look it up). It just doesn't leave your voice all trembly when you quit.

He's still kicking that silly horse, by the way. After that oddannouncement, his numbers dropped. But he had the convention and that wacky tax plan. The numbers rose again. And then kept up this bizarro "it takes a real family to raise a child" screed that had tested so poorly at the convention (did you see the knob-twisters' numbers on that one? Ouch.), and kept lurching to the right, as though Newt Gingrich's approval rating had crawled back to double digits or something. Hey, Bobster, you know the Trickster's turning in his grave at that misstep. Gotta run to the center, boy.

Which is where that tax cut thingy might work, except he's stuck in logic school again. The Bobster came by St. Pete the other day to meet with some "average people" at a sports agent's house in the swankiest part of west Florida. The lowest family income a local reporter could find was $40,000, and the only reason he was there was because he had gone to high school with the owner of the house. Next lowest income was in the six digits.

Anyway, he gave this talk about how Bill Clinton doesn't want to give all you nice people a tax cut. Bill Clinton says you don't need it. Then the Bobster asks the folks if they want a tax cut. "Yes!" the rich bastards cry out. "Alright, then," says the Bobster. "I'll give you one."

I could make an allusion to serving an alcoholic, but I'll refrain and simply note that even a five-year-old knows the difference between wanting and needing. I want a hot tub in my house. The thing is, I can't afford a hot tub, and I really don't need it. I need food, shelter and perhaps the new Iceburn album. But not a hot tub.

And that's the problem with the Bobster this year. He and his campaign have truly lost touch with reality. Folks don't mind a philanderer in the White House, but they really don't want a panderer. I'm not sure at all what the Bobster and his folks are thinking with all these strange tactics. Bill Clinton may be handing out drugs to the American people, but Bob Dole is the one drinking on the job.

Jon Worley plans on spending election night drinking heavily, with the Mekons cranked really loud. Nothing like cynical British pop music to forestall reality.

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