By this time tomorrow, America (we hope) will have elected a new president.
And the two main candidates (and their most dedicated boosters, the super PACs) will have spent well over a billion and a half dollars in their efforts to sway the 19 people in the country who hadn’t made up their minds who they were going to vote for while sitting at the family dinner table when they were 8.
A billion and a half dollars. It’s a conservative estimate.
It’s also 24,000 times the nation’s average annual household income. It’s five of the world’s most expensive private jets, the $300 million Airbus 380. It’s 100,000 new Volkswagen Jettas. Eight million train trips from Tampa to Chicago and back. Eighteen million tickets to see Aerosmith at the St. Pete Times Forum next month. One and a half billion bags of freakin’ ramen.
Spent by two men. Each of whom was trying to tell the world he would be better at balancing the country’s budget than the other. On a popularity contest.
A billion and a half dollars. Conservative estimate.
You may think that it doesn’t matter whose butt defines the contours of the chair behind the desk in the Oval Office. That it’s a case of “meet the new boss, same as the old boss”—perhaps literally. That the two candidates are just two heads of the same unholy power-mad dragon-beast, one just eating the excess cash and lives the other barfs up in an endless cycle of ruinous consumption. That it’s all just a sick inside joke perpetrated on the American public by the heirs or robber barons, men who slander one another by day only to laugh about it by night over drinks with Zionist reality manipulators and their reptilian overlords.
But do me a favor.
I want you to think about the most powerful feeling of love you’ve ever experienced. Try to remember your first love, or the birth of your child, an emotion so strong you couldn’t possibly contain it, so overwhelming you were sure it was going to burst something inside of you.
That feeling — that perfect, overpowering sense of good, of right, as natural and true and inexorable as the tides — is nothing, NOTHING, compared to the love super-rich people feel for money. Compared to the love super-rich people feel for money, your most staggering and true experience of love is a trifling pang, a bit of gas. There are super-rich people in this world with more money than their entire families are capable of spending in a century, who would use a newborn baby’s fontanelle as a bongo drum if they thought it would get them another five bucks.
Now, knowing that, you sort of have to ask yourself:
Why would men who would rather watch entire communities crumble to dust than part with a quarter spend a billion and a half dollars if they didn’t think they had to?
Obviously, We The People must still have something they need.