A Mix of Mitt and Metaphors

What frightens me the most about the pending election is not the fact that Romney has created a very public and incredibly obvious web of deceit and lies, nor that his presidency, should he win, promises to take our country back to the rapid decay and blatant disregard of moral compass and irresponsible economics that we have worked so hard to escape, but that so many Americans are willing to support his efforts to make it happen.

It is widely accepted by those relying on such tools as math and reality that a large percentage of Romney’s supporters will be among the first to feel the bite of his presidential practices, and, sadly, history has shown that they will most likely embrace the affront with cheers and shouts of joyful ignorance. They are the proverbial flock bleating at the incumbent sheepdog, even as Romney, the wolf in this scenario, leaves them shorn and bloodied for mutton.

There are those in my own life that proudly pledge their unyielding support to Mr. Romney, and in doing so they have proven a point that has often been whispered just outside the earshot of polite society or commonly laughed off as stereotype, but still exists in painful number — the masses are united by a simple lack of education and the fears that surely follow.

There are a number of exceptions, to be sure, but even the majority of those individuals with college credits and/or life experiences beyond the pale of their own comfort zone (neither of which, in my opinion, is more valuable than the other) tend to hail from geographical areas best known for things other than reason or empathy. They come from places where hate is so prevalent that nobody seems to notice it, and the benefits of higher education are mocked and discouraged — to the point that despite their apparent rise above it they still play by the rules of the only game they have ever known, and the game is sad and dangerous.

It is that mob mentality that frightens me. It is all torches and pitchforks, spewing forth hate with little concern for fact or the suddenly restrictive confines of grammar — and they spread their twisted fervor with such reckless abandonment that they never stop to realize that the monster before them is nothing but smoke and a funhouse mirror.

Perhaps a timely moment of quiet reflection may prove itself quite useful.

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