Jack Kerouac: The only presidential candidates for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to run, mad to slander, mad to be elected, desirous of every voter at the same time, the ones who never relate or say a reasonable thing, but rant, rant, rant like straight jacketed mental patients expounding like… you know, politicians at the podium and in the middle you see their blue veins pop and everybody goes “YIKES!”
Edgar Allan Poe:
Then this eerie puppet conniving my sad fancy into smiling,
By the corporate and strained peppiness of the countenance it wore.
“Though thy crest be blonde and pantsuited, thou,” I said, “art sure not disputed,
Smiley leftist and ancient First Lady wandering from the 90’s decade—
Tell me what thy platform is on national security and medicaid!”
Quoth the Politician, “Would you stop talking about that whole email thing? It’s fine. It’s FINE.”
For a “republican,” you certainly bray like a donkey…
I do NOT bray!
Fyodor Dostoevsky: We’re always thinking of the oval office as an idea that cannot be understood, something immense. But why must it be? What if, instead of all this, you suddenly find just a little room there, something like an office-space, tidy, and advisors in every corner, and that’s all a presidency is.
Franz Kafka: “No,” said the politician, “you don’t need to accept everything as true, you only have to accept it as necessary.” “Depressing view,” said The United States. “The lie made into the rule of the world.” “Yep,” said the politician in reply, “by the way, could you pass the sugar? I’m a growing cockroach, gotta keep up my strength.” “That’s gross,” said the United States. “Well,” sighed the politician, scratching its antennae, “it’s probably some kind of metaphor.”
Cormac McCarthy: Let’s not worry about the truth, the Orange One said, placing another brick on the wall. Even his sweat was orange. The men coated in red cheered as the flies swarmed in curls over the remnants of their dead party. The Orange One turned and gnashed his teeth hungrily. A Mexican, the Orange One said. I love Mexican food! The boy ran into the darkening dust, knowing that he could not stop until he reached Canada.
Dante Alighieri: “Abandon all hope, ye who watch the news here.”
Lewis Carroll: Alice began to study her election ballot, allowing for a small bit of hope to creep in. Though the ballot seemed upside-down-ways, she thought, things may turn themselves around, just as she had taken many turns that very day. If Alice could find her way to the voting booth, perhaps it was not impossible for a country to find its way, even though the path was constantly rearranging itself in curiouser and curiouser ways. For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.