“Your competition is not other people but the time you kill, the ill will you create, the knowledge you neglect to learn, the connections you fail to build, the health you sacrifice along the path, your inability to generate ideas, the people around you who don’t support and love your efforts, and whatever god you curse for your bad luck.” — James Altucher

Politics — that medium in which the penalty for failure is expulsion, not death — is a game, as evidenced by the televised coverage of it. The TV coverage resembles a European soccer match, with stately announcers, dry tones and a modicum of decorum surrounding even the outrageous.

Watching this — usually reserved for times when we have a TV tuned to a news channel that broadcasts scraps of information where one can find it, including the back alleys of the cities — broadens our horizon, because the game of politics is edutainment-in-action, a primer on how to socialize like a lawyer, and seduce like a pimp.

At least, politicians like to seduce like a pimp. When they get caught at it, they backpedal for some reason. I don’t see why. Being a player should be a mark of pride in Society: it means you aren’t some incel pussy who can’t get laid.

Bill Clinton should have trumpeted his Arkansas adventures. (There’s a porn series in the waiting: The Arkansas Adventures of Slick Willie.) That Edwards guy, a Democratic candidate for prez, should have tooted his own seductive horn. Girls love a successful player. It gives them confidence they can rage and shake the bars of their relationship without damage. (Now that’s a killer line.)

In applying to be a politician, you are broadcasting your bona fides, suggesting you have better solutions and saying you would make a cooler leader than this other dude. Be a Governator of your state, like Arnold Schwarzenegger, coolest of the cool, or a Player Premier of a Canadian province, one who struts down the aisles of celebrity get-together charity events with hot bitches by your side… it’s all very chic.

For all the chic quality of hot bitches by your side, politics is unsurprisingly viewed as sleazy. Little more than a snake oil salesman’s profession, really. People don’t like being kowtowed to or asskissed to. When you struggle to avoid offending the masses, you’re saying, I’m just a little b*tch, don’t mind me, I mean you no harm and in fact I’m as inoffensive as a chihuahua. You get no respect for avoiding the offlimits topics. People assume you’re insincere, which, in fact, you are.

The Game of Politicians is a bit like the Game of Thrones. If dragons were real, you’d see politicians flying them in TV adverts. There is skullduggery awaiting you at every turn, trying to tempt you into fucking up by calling black citizens n$ggas or saying that women belong in the home, church, and with children, like the old Nazi saying has it. (There was a reason leading women opposed the Nazis in secret and acted in concert to topple it.)

Television, made for political stunts like Stockwell Day riding his Sea-Doo water vehicle up to dry land, aims to please everybody: and in so doing, it satisfies no one, much like the politicians themselves. Here’s a pro-tip for you would-be politicians: don’t go the banal route in trying not to offend everybody. A little offensiveness is like sour candy for kids: good for the palate!!! Even Donald Trump came across as more human than the cardboard cutouts he was running against in 2016 thanks to his gauche nature.

In Europe, they have a fondness for right-wing ladies, specifically in France and Italy, two Romance countries where the women must play with dildos of fire before they get up in the morning. This is an unspeakable advancement over left-wing ninnies like Nancy Pelosi, the octogenarian retiree from the political gladiator fests of American politics, and it is unquestionably more entertaining and often generative of the kind of newspaper headlines that buoy the dying industry’s sales.

In truth, it doesn’t matter if you’re “left,” “center,” or “right,” you’ll be savaged by the press for the sin of not being interesting enough. The media scrutinizes based on past performance. If you’re Michael Dukakis, they’ll give the edge to George H. Bush, because at least the Elder Bush was a bit of an old whippersnapper in his creaky way.

The man who understands politics is a game can play to win: it’s that simple, that’s all. When you play to win — playing like your school scholarship money was on the line — you can tap into the part of you that knows to dominate. Girls follow dominating men. What do you think the bad boy ethic is all about? And men respect and salute dominating men. Why do you think Hitler was able to stay in power after suffering so many body blows to the German nation’s person? Life! Domination! They’re what makes a man worth following, and why no woman should ever be able to win an election.

The game of politics is media-mediated these days, its presentation a videoshow of highlighted clips and soundbites, like the TV special Trainwreck made to chronicle crack-smokin’ Mayor of Toronto (my hometown!) Rob Ford’s life. His brother Doug got his revenge by making his chubby self Premier of Ontario, leader of the whole dang province, if you can buy that. But it’s true. Doug Ford is Premier as of 2025, and apparently has okay approval ratings.

Without sexual charisma — of which most politicians have none — there is little hope of generating a tingle among the wimmenz. Never underestimate sexuality. Ronald Reagan had a bit of grandfatherly studliness going on, along the lines of fellow conservative Clint Eastwood. Being a former actor, he cultivated his looks as long as he could. And that proved to be a long time.

A rock star would make the ideal ruler of society. He would come at it with enough social cred to withstand the “he’s a little bitch ass kissing the majority” insinuations.

The final takeaway from today’s civics lesson is this: Be yourself only if you’re cool. If you’re a modicum of a loser, fake it til you make it. Otherwise, hit the road, Jack. It’s a long walk to Tipperary.