What's Old Is New Again

With the finality of the election percolating around opinion media right now, I am inspired to resurrect a very old award-winning article--the UNPOULIST's foruth ever post. Only now, post-mortem, can its transformative prescience be truly felt.

I give you:

John Kerry's Penis Head

I'll admit I've started thinking I might like John Kerry. Not like, but feel for, I think: like that moldering, never-was Oscar Wilde-type, who was smart, and capable of being funny, arguably, and was appreciated by intellectually unserious people, but was serious himself, never clearly tested his capabilities and so never confirmed their existence, whatever they were supposed to be for, remained rather morose and thoughtful indefinitely, never had a clue what he was really supposed to be doing with himself besides what HIS STATION MEANT, which of course he could never take seriously--that good-looking booksmart late-twenty something that no one pays attention to anymore, the unbloomed late-bloomer--that decade-ago carousing partner you just can't BRING YOURSELF to catch up with.

You know who I'm talking about. Hamlet, l'effete? Hamlet without the dumb play, the three brutal murders, the speeches. The Contemplator, superhero of precisely no superpowers. You know, the most tragic, least relevant person you can think of?

I'm starting to think, yeah, that's Kerry.

So Kerry looks at me and says, I just want a chance to finally figure out what I'm doing in public life. And I shake my head, because I just have to, and I say,

"Man,

I want nothing to do you."

Intellectual insecurity is understandable, in fact; it's perfectly natural or it's pandemic, one or the other, though it will be cured in none of our lifetimes. That insecurity, though, applied, is what we call inaction. And in that light John Kerry's abscence from John Kerry's career over the last quarter decade makes a lot of sense. So does John Kerry's abscence from any one John Kerry utterance.

The lude straddling--Kerry's gaggingly inept multipicity of postures--the burlesque is quite normal, I'm thinking, for somebody who has not gotten over the hump of deciding what to do when and if he grows up--isn't that is the most frequent and fundamental puzzlement of any well-off dandy?

So it's understandable. Indefinite puzzlement is understandable. What it's not is ELECTABLE. (What's the old saying? "John Kerry is Unelectable.") We all love Rodin, we all love "the Thinker," but we would swoon a little buyer's remorse, I'm guessing, if we elected the Thinker and when something large and beloved dissappeared from the face of the Earth we couldn't get the Thinker of his ass short a jackhammer. I think we miss Rodin a little if we don't recognize that all the thinker has done for the past 120 years is sit and stare. Is the sculptor not laughing at him just a little?

So I get John Kerry, I think, but I can't possibly accept that he's seriously asking me for the keys to the battleships. I know he just wants the gestalt, the snappy dialogue; he wants the sunsets.

John Kerry's penis head belongs to a very complicated woman, I'm told. I'm thinking it's affixed to something too complicated to be president.