Political satire works best when exaggerated truth is at its core

I no longer take politics seriously.

My years of experience working in politics cured me of the childhood training which had taught me to respect politicians and their offices. I saw what they were behind closed doors. I saw what the system was really like.

I learned that becoming enamored of a politician — of any party — was a bit like thinking that the stripper who’s taking your money at a strip club really, really likes you.

You can see politics as a strip club or a brothel, but I tend to see it as a circus instead. It’s like a full-time televised circus in which various clowns are competing for your attention and adoration. And the prize they collect at the end of each election cycle is the right to run your life until the end of the next election cycle.

It’s pretty insane if you realize what’s really going on.

I make fun of everybody in the system. Not because I hate them. Not because I’m trying to help one side or the other. But because laughter is a healthier and more reasonable response than either respect or hatred.

But a lot of people are emotionally invested in which clown should win each week. These people really believe that their clown is superior to the clowns on the other side. Many of them are even naive enough to believe their favorite clown cares about them. And these delusions get in the way of how they see political satire.

When I consistently make fun of all politicians and the holy rituals of partisan politics, most people on both sides of the mainstream are convinced I hate their side. And that’s simply not true.

When I make fun of Democrats, I’m apparently some sort of evil, racist Republican. That’s what partisan Democrats angrily say.

But when I make fun of Republicans, I magically become some far-left looney in the eyes of the True Believers of the GOP.

Maybe I’m just applying the same standards — and having fun — with the clowns on both sides. That never seems to occur to the folks who send me angry and irrational messages.

I love political satire, but it’s not because I’m trying to influence the outcome of the televised clown shows.

When I make fun of someone or something in politics, it’s far more likely that I’m making fun of human nature or human tendencies than I am to be personally attacking anyone. Quite often, I’m just holding up a mirror to the human clown show and saying, “Aren’t we pretty ridiculous creatures?”

But here’s the thing. Good political satire is essentially honest.

When I create political humor, I’m far more interested in the humor than I am in scoring political points. All politicians are inherently worth satirizing. They all have inflated egos — to one extent or another — that are worth popping. Some are just more obvious targets than others.

Donald Trump is the biggest target around right now, because he’s the current president and because he keeps presenting so many things to make fun of.

Some politicians are more fun to lampoon, typically because they make themselves into larger-than-life figures and seem incredibly overinflated with hot air. Others are more earnest and even a bit milquetoast. They’re harder to lampoon.

Trump is easy to satirize. Biden was easy to satirize, too. So were Obama and Clinton and even Reagan. But neither Bush I nor Bush II was especially funny. The default joke about Bush II is that he was stupid — and that’s not very funny.

What if Bob Dole had become president? What if Mitt Romney had won? Or Michael Dukakis? (The goofiest thing Dukakis did was try to be serious by being photographed in a military tank. He looked ridiculous — and people made fun of him.)

Some politicians are simply more absurd — in ways that almost everyone sees as true.

Today, if I make fun of Trump’s ego — by exaggerating things he might say — that can be funny because others recognize there’s truth at the core. He is a lying narcissist. He has an ego the size of an entire ZIP code. So when I take things he really says and exaggerate them, everyone who’s honest recognizes the truth in them.

But if I made up something that had no truth to it — “He used to steal money from little old ladies in nursing homes!” for instance — that wouldn’t be good satire. It wouldn’t be fair. It would just be a dishonest political attack.

People who already hate him might delight in such a thing, but it wouldn’t be good satire. Those who actually like him — or at least tolerate him — might say, “You know what? He’s just making that up, so I don’t see the point. It’s not funny.”

And that person would be right.

People on partisan sides are often thin-skinned about satire, even good satire which is based on truth. Those people seem angry when someone makes jokes about their own politicians when they would be laughing hysterically about the same joke directed toward someone they don’t like.

As a result, when I do political humor, I’m accused of being a left-wing Democrat when I make fun of a Republican politician — and I’m accused of being some sort of evil, racist Republican when I made fun of a Democrat.

It’s baffling, but it’s ultimately about cognitive dissonance. People mostly can’t accept the truth of something when they are absolutely committed to not seeing that truth.

I enjoy making people laugh. I enjoy making things that I believe show who politicians really are. I enjoy making fun of the system — and showing how ridiculous it is when you strip away the pretense of the reverence we were taught to feel about it.

But I believe in being honest. I believe in being fair. I want to do what’s right.

So if I happen to skewer your favorite clown, it’s not because I hate your clown. It’s not because I want the other clown to win.

It’s because I’m holding up a mirror to what’s going on — and I’m asking you to see that we’re pretty ridiculous when we fall in love with clowns of any kind.