2 out of 5

I have no patience for politics.  More succinctly: I don’t care.  In a forever cycle of ‘too late,’ I am a card-carrying member of the non-voting class – i.e. why bother even getting a card?  I get a semi-pass living in a state (NY) which will always vote a certain way, but I know my inaction wouldn’t be affected even if my chipped-out chad did have more bearing, and the day I’m drafted or taxed to death or NSA’d into jail or etcetera – likely accepted with a shrug – will still be Too Late for me to care.  I am the ineffective unaffected, and I am contributing to our downfall.

Now that I’ve bullshitted my way around this concept of abstaining from having an ‘involved’ opinion – attempts at justifying my anti-politico malaise – one could likely surmise that I don’t care much for political humor either, and maybe especially when it’s, like, only thinly veiled.

In The King of the Animals, Josh Russell writes… like a high schooler enraged! at the 2017 election of Trump.  That’s not a dis as to the writing quality, which is competent, but more to the development of his rage, which sort of stalls at chuckling at republicans’ ignorance – a very limited point of view – and the wry smile of a youthful author who thinks he’s getting away with something clever.  Fine, points for never naming Trump or Hilary, and the purge-like revenge of the administration burning down opinion-dissenters’ homes is clever, but… where’s the rest of the story?

I started getting sleepy after two pages, suspecting that everything there was to say was already said.  20 pages later…  Yup.  Politics!