The first president I remember was hilarious, one of those political mavericks you see only on the big screen who have you LOL, ROFL and LYAO all the time, though, come to think of it, it’s not funny at all.  Not that it matters much when you’re rich and as carefree as can be. The newly elected one was loud and before long I turned into a binge-watcher, began yelling at the TV, cursing and swearing, drinking and falling. Then came a silent one. I mean, the guy was so silent you could barely hear him talk. Luckily there was someone brave enough to speak on his behalf but (alas!) the fearless got killed by the gutless, as is often the case. The next one will remain engraved in my mind forever because of how handsome he was. (I’m sure he’s still able to break a few hearts here and there.) After him, I had a grave digger for a president (no pun intended)—a somber figure who went on hunger strike to oppose the opposition before being overthrown by his disciple and sinking into oblivion and deeper, deeper down.

My current president—the earnest and critical one—made me start talking to the TV again, cracking and spitting like a garbage-burning bonfire, before I turned it off, this time for good. The thing is, he thinks he’s a god, and gods don’t die. Gods have a whole army of supporters who are great at nodding—of course they’ll rule till the end of time. During the day god’s people are just numbers—god knows it, they do too—add them together and you’ll get a nice round number ending in zero. So every night before bed, they scrub themselves clean, change into fresh pajamas and curl up next to their children to feel somewhat better about themselves. Their dogs don’t bark when the morning comes. When the morning comes, it’s still dark.

Bojana Stojcic comes from Serbia / lived in Canada / lives in Germany where she writes while recovering from a torn ligament. She’s sure as hell we get the presidents we deserve but hey, there’s always booze to save the day. (She swears she only drinks on days that end in y.)


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