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Despite heroic efforts by fiction writers during the last two centuries, we have nevertheless entered the Age of Idiocy with our eyes wide open, our open palms outstretched, and our alleged brains in a state of suspended animation.

We achieved a blissful condition of blind obedience to pundit polarities first, with “Liberals” automatically retching in horror at any utterance by someone assigned to the “Conservative” team, and “Conservatives” briskly goose-stepping off into rants of authoritarian national conservatism in response to acts of respiration by anyone daring to acknowledge more than a passing interest in the rather human tendency to give a toot about others.

The American version of Homo Sapiens (I can still say that without kicking off an emergency session of Congress, can’t I?) having thus completed the process of psycho-social mutation, rendering virtually all intellectual and moral decision making functions identical to the sound of one hand clapping, we enthroned a maniacal spendthrift on Capitol Hill, gave him our blessings to max out the National Credit Card and mortgage the family gem collection to the nines, while we sit back oohing and aahing like toddlers at a Disneyworld fireworks display as this glib Pied Piper and his drooling minions play Feng Shui games with the Constitution of the United States.

My genetic code predisposes me to antiauthoritarianism. Besides, I can’t pay for the dubious privilege of being bureaucratically told when to gee and how to haw.

Fortunately, there are now less than 300 days remaining until we can begin to clean up after our unfortunate affair with another National Nincompoop.