I Will Now Roast Mitch McConnell for Being Alive

We shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but luckily he's not.

As you probably already know, longtime South Carolina senator Lindsey Graham suddenly passed away this weekend after what his office described as “a brief and sudden illness.” I have strong personal opinions regarding Graham’s rapacious desire for war in the Middle East and his humiliating about-face on Donald Trump, but I recognize that it’s bad manners to speak ill of the deceased. So you won’t find any jokes about Lindsey Graham here. I shan't even note that he was so deeply in the closet his actual cause of death was probably “eaten by moths.”

On the other hand, longtime Kentucky senator Mitch McConnell posted a proof-of-life photo over the weekend after disappearing from the public eye for so long that Kentucky’s governor requested a health update. The picture was shot in what photography experts call a “hostage style,” with the same day’s newspaper included.

Mitch McConnell is officially still alive. Which means that, for a few more days at least, I’m allowed to roast his ass.

Let’s be real, Mitch. You’re not looking too good. I know that’s a relative term considering your generally reptilian vibe, but still. That picture makes you look like Kermit the Frog pumped full of morphine. I’m pretty sure your eyes are pointing in three different directions. You’ve looked old for several decades, but now you just look taxidermied.

In fact, I’m guessing that the main reason you haven’t yet shuffled off this mortal coil is all the leftover polio in your legs. I actually think it’s unfair that modern medicine is keeping you alive, considering how hard you’ve fought to keep Americans from accessing it. At this point, it seems like you were just hogging all the Obamacare for yourself, like a dragon sleeping on a mountain of affordable health plans.

You should have retired years ago, Mitch. You could have spent the Trump presidencies as a private citizen, pursuing passions like freezing mid-sentence in peace. Instead, you’re probably the least liked person in America. Democrats and independents hate you. Trump and his people don’t like you, either. Who’s even left to give your eulogy? (It won’t be Lindsey Graham!)

Here’s a fun idea for you to contemplate as you try to ignore that hooded figure in your hospital room currently beckoning with bony fingers: no one will remember you. I’m about to turn 40, and I couldn’t tell you who the Senate majority leader was when I was in high school for a million dollars.¹ In twenty years, you’ll just be some guy with a highway named after you in the #1 state for alcoholism and horse racing accidents.

So congrats on the breathing, Mitch. I hope you’re “technically alive” enough to realize that almost everyone wishes you weren’t!

1. Google says it was Bill Frist, but I don’t even believe that’s a real guy.