In a fit of exasperation the other morning after reading the news I came up with the idea of taking a vote to see who, between our president, Donald J. Trump, and his secretary for health and human services, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., is most insane.

Day in and day out I wake up to headlines that astonish me. Is this for real? Can this be? What?! And the other morning I just thought,

Which of the two is craziest? I don’t know! How about a vote?!

All sorts of scenarios came to mind, including one where a write-in candidate runs away with the race and one where the loser challenges the results and another with a recurring series of elections to keep up with the breakneck pace of their stupefying statements and actions. It was looking like a winning piece of satire.

But then, after about an hour, I ran into a couple of problems. One, I am not a satirist. I forget this. I read satire and I appreciate satire, but I don’t have the skills for it. Trying to write this idea as satire reminded me that of that.

I encountered the second problem when I started wondering why I decided that this issue needed to be decided. It doesn’t really matter which of the two is craziest, does it? Having both of them be merely crazy is enough, isn’t it? What’s the point of a decision declaring the winner?

I realized that I was after some certainty. So much at this moment seems threatened and up for grabs—our civil liberties, our economy, the rule of law, the guiding light of science and reason, the freedom to pursue independent, unfettered education. Seeking certainty in such circumstances makes sense.

Along with certainty, I recognized a need for humor. As depressing and alarming as the news is, I just need to laugh sometimes. All the assertions, claims, denials, and deflections are so preposterous and unbelievable, so untethered and untenable. Laughing is a valuable and necessary reflexive recovery mechanism. The idea of voting to decide who’s crazier between Trump and Kennedy made me laugh.

Voting also embraces the idea of collective action. That comforts me in a way similar to certainty. The news and its concomitant sense of doom can have an isolating effect, creating feelings of distress and despair, alienation and futility.

Organizing with others can help abate this anguish. Even if this vote is only imaginary, I like to think that others would join me in assessing each candidate and choosing a winner. I can envision rallies, debates, run-offs.

Although I wish I could have come up with a nice slice of satire, I don’t feel as if I wasted my time when my mind turned in other, more contemplative directions and uncovered and explored the emotional context of my whim—the abiding, real need for certainty, levity, and community. I can live without being a satirist. The other things? Not so much.

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