No, Mr. Jindal, You Can’t Have Ice Cream

To begin, let me say that I have not given up on this state. There are some things about living here that are downright neat-o.

I’ve never understood taking pride in slipping out of someone’s vagina in a particular part of the world, as though you had any say in it whatsoever, but I do enjoy residing here a large portion of the time. But our governor has slipped heavily into near-comedic levels of suck, so much so that his own people are slowly distancing themselves from him like he just wet-farted in an elevator.

But we can fix this. I don’t mean once he’s finally gone. There’s an opportunity to turn things around today, my fellow Louisianaians. Louisiananans. Louisianaites. My fellow citizens of this boot-shaped state!

If we want to improve this place we call home, simply quit talking about Bobby Jindal.

To keep himself in the press, he keeps saying and doing awful, hateful, destructive, backward things to and with our state. He has become an emo middle child who thrives on negative attention.

He’s never going to be president. Ever. He either refuses to accept it, is too committed to his own bullshit to pull out and look like a failure now, or is afraid he’ll never get laid again if he doesn’t make a full, failed attempt at the White House.

To keep himself in the press, which further encourages his delusions of relevancy, he keeps saying and doing awful, hateful, destructive, backward things to and with our state. He has become an emo middle child who thrives on negative attention.

Quit talking about him. Hell, stop paying attention to him in general. Like the fat kid screaming about ice cream in the frozen section of Wal-Mart, he must be ignored if he’s going to move on.

Sure, he’ll cry and let out a few last screams of impotent rage. But like the fat kid, he’ll realize that it just isn’t going to happen and maybe, if he’s good for the rest of the time there, he’ll get to ride the mechanical helicopter outside on the way to the car.

He’ll get back to work.

He’ll try to fix the budget, maybe even realize this is his last political gasp and pass some new taxes before we’re all driving to work on gravel roads.

He’ll shut up about “traditional marriage,” an issue even Alabama and Arkansas have progressed away from, and quit confusing the defense of hate speech with the defense of free speech.

Jindal-2014-Christmas-Card-CamouflageHe’ll quit forcing his kids to wear camouflage for family portraits and stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Dad, you don’t even grill your own fish, much less hunt.” Maybe then the Robertsons will go back to making duck calls and shut the fuck up.

He’ll admit that he’s Indian, take pride in the fact that being the first Indian governor of Louisiana is a pretty amazing thing, and update those paintings in his office.

Maybe he’ll even fix that stupid smile of his.

He’ll realize that he can’t keep cutting from education to pretend there isn’t a statewide deficit, so that when his son parties out of Stanford his freshman year, he’ll be able to afford resident tuition at LSU.

He’ll admit to himself that there’s nothing wrong with admitting there’s a problem and talk to his doctor about once-a-day Cialis.

He’ll call Vitter out on that whole wearing-a-diaper-with-hookers scandal and tell him to quit hypocritically pushing family values and focus on the budget and improving infrastructure. If pictures pop up of you walking out of Ruth’s Chris, you can’t pretend to be a vegetarian anymore.

He’ll admit to himself that there’s nothing wrong with admitting there’s a problem and talk to his doctor about once-a-day Cialis.

He’ll return to being the Bobby Jindal who took office all those years ago and got things done. Maybe then he can leave the legacy he keeps pretending to have.

But nobody believes that’s going to happen. Least of all him.

And tonight, as he puts down a well-worn copy of The Secret and stares longingly at that picture of Ronald Reagan in the Rose Garden with his face taped over the Gipper’s on his vision board, a single tear will roll down his cheek. Then, he’ll hit play on the Ocean Sounds app on his Blackberry, lie back and put on his Zune headphones, and focus on the soothing sounds of Chinese Democracy to help him ignore the frustrated rumblings of a foot-long vibrator humming mere inches away from his thighs.RedShtick-Top-ColumnStop

About Knick Moore

Knick Moore
Knick Moore hasn't been a smoker since 2007. However, this picture is just too stylish to replace.

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