An hour in the Life of a Constipated Politician

Constipated Politician
Constipated Politician

I am sitting on the toilet. I’ve been sitting here for a while, almost an hour, trying to force out the leftovers of my dinner. Too many eggs, not enough vegetables, that is why I am stuck here. I feel like I am having a baby. What is in there, surely it is bigger than a baby. I need a doctor here, maybe someone to hold my hand and tell me to push. Still, despite the movement in my bowels, or lack thereof, this has given me time to think. 

Times of pain and this is one – I am in pain, are often times for reflection. I have been reflecting on my own life for the last few hours. By trade I am a politician. That means, in theory, I care for the people and want to make meaningful change. In reality, it means that I am a professional liar, only useful for making my mates richer or making poor people poorer. I am a professional bastard. Everyone calls me that. The newspapers, the electorate, my friends, businesses, taxpayers, activists. They all hate me. They would probably rejoice at the news that I am painfully constipated. Anything to hurt me.

I sat on the pot an hour ago, to relieve the tension. You see, I never wanted all this animosity. I got into politics to do good. I wanted to help people, I wanted to make the world a better place. But then, the funding argument starts. The big businesses tell you that if you do not cut their taxes, they will not fund your campaign for re-election. If you do not get re-elected, then you cannot help the people. But then, when the people see you taking policy advice from big business, they hate you even more. That is why I am scared. Maybe the fear is causing the blockage. 

After a few minutes of regretfully thinking about my failure to do good, the cause of my tension, I wandered onto something else. Ambition. Everybody in politics loves power and has ambitions to be in control. If you did not love power, you would not become a candidate in the first place. So, you cannot pretend otherwise, politics is about power. Unashamedly, I love power. It is the best. I like commanding the little people, telling them what to do. It makes me feel good. One day, I hope to be president. I cannot tell anyone. If I do, my competitors will sell me out to the media, they will destroy me. I can only reveal my ambitions at the last minute. Right now, my only real ambition is to offload last night’s steak. 

Ruminating on my ambition was not enough to see me through the hour-long wait. My thoughts turned to fear. I have so many fears. Everything scares me. What if that thing I did at college makes it into the newspaper? What if my wife finds out about the affair? What if I fail to get re-elected? What if I do get into power but then fail? What if someone declares war when I get to power? What if I have to resolve a pandemic? There are so many things that can go wrong, and so little that can go right. How many politicians retire having been successful? Not many. Most are consigned to the ignominy of the bitterness of public opinion. Worse still, I could be forgotten about. No one wants to be forgotten. 

The emotional turmoil, created by this enormous dump that I am unable to have, finally turns to anger. Secretly, I hate the people. I hate them just as much as they hate me. I despise their stupidity. I hate the media too. How can they comment on me when they have never done a day of work in their life? I loathe businesses. Can they not see the damage they are doing, just to make money? It sickens me that I am the one who has to do their bidding. I detest activists. Yes, they have their causes and things they care about. But so do I! Why should I have to care about theirs too? Activist are anyways around just to make money and grab power. Most of all, I abhor the other politicians. They are needy, spineless worms. They only care about money or promotion and it makes my stomach turn, even though I am exactly like them.

Well, does it make my stomach turn? Or is that movement? Is the food finally passing, or am I just filled with rage at my colleagues? No, I can feel it. It is happening! Gravity is doing its work. The nasty brown slurry is coming out of me in the flurry. With it, all of these negative emotions are washing away. Maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay after this. Maybe I was not unhappy at all, just constipated. What a waste of an hour. At least I did not have to do any actual work. 

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