Is the Presidency Still For Sale?

“Where’s my pedicurist?!”

If you listen to the news, the future never arrived the way we were told on TV, and so was replaced by a sinister copy, a fabrication. Make it so, said Captain Picard in one of the many Star Trek spinoffs. But then he’d adjust his tunic, which was always a bit too short for him, as though tailors in the future–mechanical or otherwise–didn’t have the proper skill set to properly sew.  In that naive view, technology could somehow replicate gold out of energy and transport a body down to a planet’s surface, soul and all. In the slice of reality real scientists inhabit, of course, there isn’t much loose gold left, and no souls at all. We’re just these electrical connections firing in accordance to neuronal mapping, guided by DNA. The “I” in “me,” so they say, is an illusion too. So we’re still confused about whether a reassembled self would be a rebirth or a clone appearing at our death. Who are we, anyway? Well, to sociopathic politicians looking to get elected, what we are is votes. A vote is not really a person, it’s just a statistic. You can lie to statistics. You can manipulate them too. Does it seem to you that anyone in politics is doing anything at all except pointing fingers and asking other people to pay their bills? Maybe we live in the wrong bubble universe, and the one that actually supports change and progress in economics and politics (with fewer commercials for junk food) is elsewhere. The sinister antiKirk comprised of antiKirk particles is in charge of our alternate bubble universe, I think, and he has put all elections up for grabs to the highest bidder.