Policrook

Loyalty Must Always
Outweigh Competence

In the dark alleys of political machination, the cronyism playbook looms like a shadow, guiding aspiring tyrants down a path paved with loyalty rather than merit.
This insidious tactic isn’t just a choice; it’s the rule of the game, crafted to ensure that competence takes a backseat while the sycophants drive the political bus straight into a ditch of mediocrity.
Eat your heart out, Plato; it’s loyalty, not virtue, that reigns supreme in this dystopian carnival.
Picture, if you dare, the spectacle: elected officials doling out promotions like carnival prizes to the most insatiable bootlickers in the room.
Competence?
That’s what you might find under the seat cushions of the political theatre—distant, forgotten, possibly even buried beneath a mountain of crumpled promises.
Your loyal cronies, waxy-faced and grinning like Cheshire cats, have become the veritable money trees of your tenure.
“Why worry about their qualifications?” you sneer.
“They can pump up my inflated ego like a hot-air balloon! Who needs substance when you have sycophancy as the main course?”

So, how do you cement this loyalty?
Why, with armfuls of plush titles, extravagant bonuses that could make a Kardashian blush, and diplomatic gigs that turn the world into your personal vacation spot.
In this craven system, your loyal minions are no longer mere courtiers; they’ve become your personal tax shelters—exempted from the scrutiny usually warranted by grand public service because let’s face it, they’re far too busy basking in the glow of your ego to actually serve anyone else.
Yet, the façade must be maintained, and therein lies the next act of this tragicomic opera: persecution of truth-tellers.
Honesty, you’ve discovered, is like a rabid dog in your backyard—chaotic, unpredictable, and hell-bent on mauling your carefully crafted image.
What do you do with that?
You chain it up, isolate it, and if it still barks, well, you just throw a mountain of bureaucratic audits at its feet.
“Ethics?” you chuckle, swiping at a faint symptom of guilt.
“Who has time for that when I can bury dissent under paperwork thicker than a New York phone directory?”

And if that doesn’t silence the rabble?
You take truth-telling and smear its face in the dirt.
Transform your critics into scandalous cartoons, plaster them all over the press like cold pizza on a basement floor at 3 AM.
Let the whispers of integrity die a quiet death, buried under layers of orchestrated dishonor, so that public perception becomes a mere echo of your skepticism, reverberating in tune with your orchestrated narrative.
It’s not about building a united front; it’s about constructing your crony cartel.
Loyalty isn’t just valued; it’s fetishized, and competence?
That’s a figment of an idealistic past—something for those nostalgic for a time when leaders led instead of looted.
Your followers morph into hostages, shackled to your purse strings, while the trappings of democratic ideals fall to the wayside, vanishing like smoke in the wind.
So, bask in the glow of your corrupt ascendancy! Revel in the beauty of this political theater where truth has become a mere prop, and every pawn you control on the board adds to your wealth of deceit.
Your dictatorship, gilded in gold, will crush dissent and elevate the bootlickers who swell the ranks of your merry band of crooks.
Now, voter, here’s your wake-up call: This isn’t merely satire; this is your current reality, lurking just under the surface of political discourse.
Just remember, while not every politician plays this game, many are crafting their legacies with gold-plated loyalty rather than the integrity you deserved.
Don’t let charm and charisma blind you to the machinations behind the curtain; demands for accountability often drown beneath the shrieks of sycophantic applause.
Protect yourself, question motives, and guard your vote as if it were a treasure—because, believe me, in the land of cronies, this will be the only thing standing between you and the ultimate exploitation of your trust.