Tom Price vacated his seat in Georgia's 6th congressional district to become Donald Trump's secretary of Health and Human Services, where he's in charge of defending the GOP's healthcare plan by claiming its smaller physical stature makes it better than Obamacare, like we're all fucking idiots. Now voters in the 6th will get a chance to fill that seat during a special election to be held on April 18th, 2017, in which they will hopefully elect someone who doesn't believe pointing to a stack of papers is an argument that will blow our minds.
Democrats are hoping they can win the traditionally Republican-held seat by putting all of their faith in a 30-year-old political newbie named Jon Ossoff, a guy who looks like the congressional staffer who'd take the fall when his boss is caught plowing a prostitute at a rest stop.
Experts agree that even with anti-Trump fervor sweeping the nation, the fact that Trump won Georgia's 6th by only a point, and that Ossoff currently leads the race by a slim margin, no Democrat has a chance to flip that seat any time soon. But that hasn't stopped a Republican super PAC from releasing an anti-Ossoff attack ad, and oh how pathetic it is.
The best opposition research the super PAC could scrounge up was a video of Ossoff playing Han Solo and possibly Darth Vader in a Star Wars homage he shot with his frat buddies, as well as footage of Ossoff singing in a college a cappella group. There are no racial slurs, he never once mocks a physically disabled person to the delight of a cheering crowd, and he doesn't brag about sexually assaulting a single woman. It's just the extremely dorky exploits of your average college-aged millennial. The worst allegation in the ad -- that Ossoff probably wasn't getting a ton of pussy in college -- isn't even explicitly stated, even though we all know it's there. And even that argument sucks, since striking out with college girls makes him more relatable.
This ad scrapes the bottom of the barrel in terms of what it expects voters to throw a fit over. But it does say a lot about the kind of very stupid struggles millennials are going to be facing in the future as we start moving up into positions of power while attempting to flee the evidence of the dorky shenanigans we willingly posted on the internet in our youth. The outing of a political figure's trivial internet fun will become the norm.
And it's going to be amazing.
This means that in our lifetime, there will be a millennial politician whose mental health we'll question after a trove of pictures of them planking is dumped by Wikileaks. We're going to look at their stiff body lying on grass, across a bus bench, on a McDonald's counter, and publicly debate whether we can trust a dipshit who thought taking pictures of themselves lying down was a legit way to get the attention they so desperately sought. The debate will make us look fondly upon Trump's painfully desperate self-promotional tactics and revere them as masterful and nuanced.
Internet sleuths will dig deep into the wastelands of YouTube to uncover long-abandoned accounts filled with bad comedy sketches so lacking in views that the few they do have are from the uploader making sure the audio is still in sync.
There will be a point at which a politician will have to publicly apologize for committing the internet crime of trying to be more annoying than PewDiePie when 189 episodes of their failed Let's Play series surface that's mostly them releasing the pained wails of a Furby in heat while playing Crash Bandicoot. Probably during a televised debate, Martha Raddatz will ask if they regret the time they were banned from Twitch for speedrunning Skyrim with mods that gave all the female characters enormous knockers and made all swords into photoreal dicks. If they're smart, they're either going to answer with a flat yes, or even better, try to defend big titties and dick swords as the ultimate expression of American freedom.
The future is going to be a weird place for us millennials, and we're the ones who made it weird. We've been leaving a trail of embarrassing videos, images, and status update rants behind us as we merrily skipped our way into adulthood, not realizing that we've been setting bear traps of embarrassment for our future selves. Thankfully, a lot of the stuff will be dumb and not truly scandalous -- the equivalent of a late-night talk show host showing a clip from a commercial for gonorrhea medicine that an actor was in when they started out. But multiply that by every Tweet they've sent, every Instagram picture posted, every failed attempt at YouTube stardom, and every Vine that will soon loop back into their lives. This is more than an embarrassing childhood picture; this is concrete evidence undermining the character of the serious adults we're trying to portray. We willingly gave the world the ammunition to retroactively turn us into the next Star Wars Kid.
All we can do is hope that our years of living our lamest moments out loud will even the playing field. Doing goofy internet stuff won't seem so weird when it's the norm for an entire generation. Not being able to escape the evidence of our dorky pasts might make us more empathetic toward the stupidity of others, suddenly making "we all make mistakes" an adage we can't say never applied to us.
But none of that shit's gonna happen. So prepare yourselves for the fun, because millennial political candidates are on their way, and they have no idea they're dragging their all-caps LiveJournal manifestos and Supernatural slash fiction along with them.
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Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.