There are times when cynicism gets the best of me. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any nuttier, voters south of me in New York elected a shape shifter. Enter George Santos. Or is it? More than one politician down in Washington has damp armpits over who he really is. But that doesn’t stop Republicans from appointing him to committees rather than booting his arse out. Blinded by indifference, hatefulness, and outright stupidity, McCarthy and the rest of his posse of the irregulars, have chosen to greet him like an old friend and fellow cowboy.

Growing up in the rural northeast meant having a seat at the political table: Town Meeting. There’s nowhere to hide at Town Meeting. If you have dirty laundry, someone is sure to pull your pants down for all to see. It’s no Norman Rockwell painting on Town Meeting Day but the lunch is terrific. It’s government by the people and for the people with a lot of shouting and boredom alternating with voting and gossiping. There are no PR firms or TikTok videos. No lobbyists buying off America’s future. Enter George Santos.

If you think Marjorie Taylor Greene is a sign of the times, you’re missing the point. Anyone can stand up and shout stupid but it takes a real toad in a hole to be a George Santos. Santos represents everything and nothing, except maybe how a grifter can read the room and inveigle himself into the good graces of the electorate and the halls of Congress. We’ve been down this road before on a national scale but at least our benighted former President wasn’t a part-time drag queen. I think. And, before you beat me with a stick, I’m all for being a drag queen but none of this ‘I was only kidding’ and ‘my other suit was at the cleaners’ malarkey. You be all you, George: wear your kit onto the Congressional floor and earn your place in social media history.

We’re three weeks into 2023 and I’m over it already. Another year of crazy. America reminds me of a bible thumper tent meeting with a side of snake oil. We don’t have to wait for dystopia; it’s already here.