By the Political Satirist Who Can’t Believe This Is Real
Ah, it’s that time again. The grand spectacle of democracy, where the U.S. Presidential Election takes centre stage—an event that some call a sacred tradition, but most of us know as the world’s most expensive and drawn-out talent show. There’s no Simon Cowell to buzz out the bad acts, but if there were, he’d need a whole orchestra of buzzers.
This season, like every other, promises the usual fanfare: slogans that sound like they were pulled from a motivational poster in your dentist’s office and debates so riveting that even the candidates seem like they’d rather be anywhere else. Watching them try to answer questions is a lot like watching a cat try to avoid a bath—pure panic and confusion, followed by vague promises to improve the bathing process.
Of course, the candidates are as polished as ever, each one carefully trained in the art of saying everything while saying nothing at all. They’re like political poets, really, spinning tales of hope and unity that make you almost forget that they’ve been part of the system that’s been arguing over infrastructure since your grandpa had hair. But don’t worry—they’ve got a plan now.
And let’s talk about the campaign ads. These masterpieces of fearmongering make summer blockbusters look like quiet indie films. It’s impressive how every election, candidates manage to find stock footage of crumbling buildings and people looking miserable, while a deep, ominous voiceover warns that voting for the other guy will somehow lead to the apocalypse. But don’t worry—if you vote for this guy, the sun will shine again, and bald eagles will personally deliver healthcare to your door.
The primaries are a real highlight, a cutthroat competition to see which candidate can most creatively distance themselves from everything they’ve ever said or done. It’s like watching someone try to argue that they’ve always been a vegetarian—right after finishing a steak dinner. And the voters? They’re just along for the ride, treated like background characters in this political soap opera, with pollsters asking them to predict who’ll win, when most of them are just trying to figure out who’ll fix the potholes in their town.
Then, there’s the grand finale: Election Night, the Super Bowl of American politics, except nobody really knows when it ends, or who’s actually winning until someone tells them. The pundits will gather like astrologers reading the stars, analysing every county like it’s the key to the universe, while Americans watch, wondering how the electoral college still exists. By the time the results trickle in, half the country will be confused, the other half will be angry, and somehow, Florida will still be counting.
But in the end, does it matter who wins? Well, sure. But it’s not like anything will really change, right? The promises, the drama, the endless news coverage—it’s all part of the show. And what a show it is, filled with just enough suspense and absurdity to keep you coming back for the next season. Because in America, the election might be over, but the campaign? That never really ends.
Stay tuned for 2028, where we’ll do it all over again—with new catchphrases and hopefully, better snacks.