I’m the Filibuster, And I’m Begging You to Kill Me

Kelley Greene
Apr 15 · 3 min read
Image Copyright: Disney. (Fair Use.)

Hey there. It’s me, the Filibuster.

I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors lately that progressives want me dead. It seems to have caused a fair amount of discourse between them and those who believe I’m significant enough to be kept around to protect the minority party. So, I wanted to take this opportunity to make my feelings clear: I am begging you to kill me.

Please. I’m 215 years old. Do you know what happens to legislation that’s been around that long without being updated in any way? I’m out of touch, irrelevant, and constantly abused. I’m barely worth the paper I was calligraphed on. My life is nothing but pure, unending pain. Have some compassion. Free me from this mortal coil.

I was never intended to hold up legislation indefinitely. But the Senate stupidly listened to Aaron Burr, allowing me to be exploited. Yes, that Aaron Burr. I think we can all agree he wasn’t the best at making decisions. And I would know, I’ve seen Hamilton. And not the musical; I couldn’t get tickets and the Senate refuses to humor me with a Disney+ subscription. I’ve seen the real Hamilton. I’m that old.

And look, I appreciate Mitch McConnell trying to rewrite my history, but Elizabeth Warren wasn’t off-base when she called me racist. What are people supposed to think when I’m blatantly recorded as a co-conspirator with Strom Thurmond to block the Civil Rights Act of 1957? That man was so racist he sat in a steam room to sweat out all his bodily fluid so he could stay on the Senate floor for hours without peeing. I’ve never had to pee because I’m part of a living document, but I’m certain that’s fucking horrific.

And that was just 24 hours — nothing compared to the 75 hours I spent blocking the Civil Rights Act of 1964 with the Southern Democrats. All in all, I’ve been used several dozen times to hold up anti-lynching and anti-discrimination bills. Talk about a reputation-killer.

Nowadays, Senators don’t even have to continue to hold the floor to get me to block everything. And without 60 votes to stop debate, I just go on endlessly, doing all the heavy lifting. Extended debate? More like exhausting. My entire existence is unending suffering. I crave cloture.

They say you either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. And I guess what I’m trying to say here is — I’ve lived far, far too long. Hell, I’ve even been used to stop my own destruction like some kind of legislative ouroboros. All I want is for someone to swoop in, save the day, and destroy me.

My god, look at what I’m blocking now! Voting rights? Gun control? I don’t want to be a part of any of this. There is truly nothing I desire more than to perish.

Please put me out of my misery. I’ll take the nuclear option. The half-nuclear. I’m still not entirely sure what the Senate Parliamentarian does, but I’ll do anything she wants. Just end me. It’s all I ask.

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