In my next life, I want top come back as a member of El Paso’s Ruling Class. It’s as much fun as kindergarten with none of the responsibility.
You get to say what you want, and do what you want, and if you get caught lying to the electorate, you just duck out for a little while, and wait for the taxpayers you shafted to forget, and then you come right back with your mojitos and white wine spritzers and dinner at the El Paso Club.
I used to think that my cats had it made, until I started thinking about what it takes to be public official in El Paso.
My cats, at least, have a conscience. When they shit on the rug they go hide. Our public officials go run for another office, or volunteer to be on another board, or get a job running some public agency. My cats suffer, if not from remorse, at least the possibility of punishment.
In El Paso there’s no possibility of punishment. From whom? The local constabulary think we live in a banana republic, where laws are for the proles.
The local Ruling Class runs up the tab and skips out before the check comes due.
They get drunk, and we get the hangover.