You know what really frosts my flakes?
Election yard signs.
Every election season they sprout up across America like crabgrass after a spring rain. You can’t escape them.
They appear on street corners, vacant lots, medians, front yards and places where no sane human has ever willingly stood for more than 12 seconds. Somehow they multiply overnight.
One day there are three signs. The next morning it looks like a print shop exploded in a ditch. What exactly is the point?
Has anyone in the history of democracy ever changed their vote because they drove past 47 signs zip-tied to a chain-link fence?
“Who are you voting for, honey?”
“Well, I was undecided until I drove to the store and saw 1,068 signs for Jane and only 981 for Dick. Clearly Jane is the superior leader.”
That’s not democracy. That’s counting cardboard.
Most of these signs don’t even tell you anything. They convey no ideas, no plans, no qualifications. Just a last name in giant letters next to a flag and a slogan cooked up by a focus group making $300 an hour.
“Moving Forward.”
“Real Change.”
“Stronger Together.”
Wonderful. That tells me absolutely nothing.
You know what would impress me?
A sign that says: “I will automatically step down in eight years.”
Or:
“I will resign if the next budget is not balanced or if government shuts down.”
Or:
“If my net worth goes up more than 10 percent, I will donate half of it to government.”
Or:
“I survived Thanksgiving dinner with my extended family without starting a riot.”
Now THAT would separate candidates.
Instead, modern politics has become the world’s most expensive popularity contest.
Billions of dollars get poured into consultants, strategists, image experts, PR reps, pollsters, social media managers and campaign planners. Half these people couldn’t run a lemonade stand, but somehow they’re shaping policy.
And the candidates spend months repeating the same 20-second sound bites like malfunctioning parrots. Nobody answers a question anymore.
“How will you fix inflation?”
“Well first of all, let me say we deserve leadership.”
That wasn’t an answer. That was a Hallmark card.
Meanwhile the rest of us are dodging yard signs blowing across intersections like political tumbleweeds. By election day, neighborhoods look like NASCAR tracks sponsored by angry people.
Then the election ends and suddenly nobody remembers to pick the signs up. For weeks afterward, faded cardboard faces lean sideways in the mud looking like abandoned scarecrows.
At that point the signs finally become useful. At least they scare away crows better than they persuaded voters.