After Sunday’s relative cool down, it sure heated up again on Monday. I’m not speaking of the mercury, but rather the nation’s political temperature. As our nation’s debt crisis careens ever closer to its August 3rd deadline, the two parties, Republican and Democrat, seem further apart than ever and more intransigent in their respective positions. As political sport, this crisis makes for great press. Without it, the news cycle would be condemned to tabloid journalism or worse, articles about tabloid journalists. So embrace your partisan self. Vent your political feelings. Release your inner rage. (I’m just speaking metaphorically here. So, let’s not go all crazy out there.)

Go to your favorite news or political news website and express your opinions. I’m sure that almost everyone there will want to hear your erudite arguments. There you’ll find plenty of likeminded intellectuals, such as yourself. You’ll win kudos and much praise for your succinct parsing of the political problem. Whether you offer your own unique solution to the debt crisis or simply champion the position of your political party, a committee seeking your election to the {House | Senate | White House} will materialize out of the effervescence that is the blogosphere. You will be drafted to run for elected office and soon find yourself a player in the political game show that substitutes for our national government these days.

I’m not saying that there won’t be a few bumps on the road. Even on your favorite bulletin board there is always a few of them. Fear not, your logic, reason and command of the facts will rule the day. One by one, members of your loyal opposition will falter and either admit your omnipotence or simply slink away like the cowardly naives that they really are. Victory is yours!

Except for that one recalcitrant, who refuses to admit defeat or simply just go to bed. Try what you might, he keeps coming back, matching you, argument for argument, comment for comment. Doesn’t this guy have a job?

You wakeup, all too early, the alarm clock is blaring in the other room, the bedroom. You wakeup, lying across the keyboard, the keys imprinted across your face. Drool has seeped into the keyboard, making entering your password difficult. Unlocking the screen, you see that the last twenty-six comments were made by him, finishing with his last, “Silence implies consent, counting-down 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and 0 … debt crisis solved. I win!” This comment is followed by the site’s moderator; explaining that this thread is closed and both of you are banned for thirty days.

You spend your remaining days searching bulletin boards for your nemesis, staying up all night, night after night. Your work begins to suffer. Friends and relatives begin to worry about you. Finally, medical professionals are called to intervene. After the application of chemical therapy, you are blissfully unaware of the debt crisis, August third’s passing and your unmet benefactor. Peace.