To No Fly or Not to No Fly, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of indecision
Or take arms against a tin pot dictator
And by opposing end him. To golf, to play
No more – and by play to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand responsibilities
This job requires. ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To golf, to play –
To play, perchance to bracket: ay, there’s the rub,
To watch one’s pick, march on the final four
When at last we watch Duke play Pitt,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of getting elected.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of this job,
Bush’s problems, the Tea Party’s contumely
The pangs of despised polls, the Constitution’s stubbornness,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might his departure make
With an electoral loss? Who would want this job?
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after this office,
The undiscovered retirement, from whose bourn
Only Bill Clinton returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than to fly to others that we know not of?
Thus making decisions does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of
Longing to be a community organizer again
Or to be able to vote “present”
And lose the name of action. – Soft you now,
Jimmy Carter, to you I will be compared
By all my sins remembered.
Apologies to William Shakespeare
That’s my opinion; I’d like to know yours. Please comment below.