The Best Meal I Never Ate

“Politicians and diapers have one thing in common. They both should be changed regularly.”
-Anonymous

Yesterday morning I was randomly selected to witness one of the largest, most distinguished political events to ever happen in the great Beehive state of mine. This by far trumped the Democratic Pepsi Dumping of 1978, or even the Shakespeare/Moody recall of ’03. Yesterday I had the chance to rub shoulders with, wait, scratch that…go head to head, no, that doesn’t sound right either…lick the heels of some of the snootiest, most egotistical Republican bastards this side of the Colorado.

For full effect, download a sound clip from the Glenn Beck and/or Rush Limbaugh talk show and play at full volume throughout the duration of this post.

Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a blog to bash the party that uses an elephant for a mascot. (By the way, what buddy of Ben Franklin who was probably sky high on some form of colonial shrooms decided to pick an elephant for the Republican’s mascot? That makes no sense to me). I am not knowledgeable, nor active enough, nor do I actually care that much about awful debates to write a blogpost about the political issues that our country is facing these days. I’m no Roger Winston Eddingbright the 3rd or anything.

Back to the story.

Yesterday morning I was cordially invited by my ridiculously affluent Uncle to attend the Mitt Romney campaign fundraiser luncheon. Yes kids, you read that right, I was at a political brownnosing orgy held at the Grand America hotel in downtown Salt Lake. I would have been able to feast upon the glories of a thousand dollar a plate lunch, but for some reason my ride didn’t get the memo that the secret service wanted us to show up early.

I had no business being there. I’m not rich, have no political ties to the man, have never actually voted in a public election, heck, the only grasp I have to anything related to politics is my late-night catch up sessions on “The Daily Show”, which in my personal opinion is the most true form of objective journalism itself. That Jon Stewart would put Walter Cronkite to shame, right Liz?

I was out of my league I tell you, a speck of plankton in the political Pacific Ocean. I was but a mere pit-stain on the wife beater of the work shirt of the 14-year old zit-covered teenager that mows the lawn for all of the bigwigs and fancy farts strolling in and out of that hall. The donors and supporters that lined the walls of that auditorium will more than likely have higher value for their urine than what my cumulative lifetime salary will end up being.

“I piss excellence.”
-Ricky Bobby

We came. We sat. We watched the nominee deliver a rhetoric thanking the aristocrats for their money. Sitting in an 800-seat auditorium with 1100 people groveling at the Governor’s words, trying to zoom their iPhones on a figure that they’ll brag about to countless nobodies on their Facebook posts was one of the highlights of my week. Yeah, he didn’t answer questions about health-care reform, immigration, or the stumbling economy, but so what? A guy running for President of the country paused his political pissing to wave his platformed palm in Utah. We should all be grateful.

Yes kids, politics is an art. It’s a world within itself. Fast-talkers and issue-switchers stroll down the red carpet of public admiration and glamour only to be bombasted by Anderson Cooper or the host of “Red Eye”. I know nothing about this battle that Romney will be facing over the next few months. So what if the guy uses floss made of pure silk, watching him do his dance on the podium in person was sure worth a meager 45 minutes of blogging.

Even if he was full of crap.