Where everything is bipartisan until it is not.
A politician who's still in office but has already lost their next election, making them about as powerful as a substitute teacher on a Friday. They can technically still govern, but everyone knows the vibes are off.
An economic punishment where one country tells another "we're not trading with you anymore" in the geopolitical equivalent of unfriending someone. Confusingly, the word can also mean "to approve," because English is a language designed to cause headaches.
The gap between what the government earns and what it spends, which is like your credit card statement if your credit card had a limit of infinity and your income was based on vibes. Both parties hate it loudly and do absolutely nothing about it.
A political movement that starts from ordinary people, as opposed to the usual method of starting from billionaires in mahogany-paneled rooms. It's democracy's version of a garage band, complete with more enthusiasm than funding.
An election before the real election where party members argue about who should get to argue in the actual election. It's a tournament arc where the prize is the privilege of enduring six more months of attack ads.
The invisible currency of influence that politicians earn by winning elections and spend by doing anything remotely controversial. It's like social credit but the exchange rate fluctuates based on whatever is trending on the news that day.
Rules that prevent politicians from holding the same office forever, based on the radical idea that power should occasionally change hands. Without them, some senators would serve longer than the average lifespan of a Galapagos tortoise.
A list of promises a political party makes that serves the same purpose as a restaurant menu at a place that's always out of everything. It's aspirational fiction published every four years and referenced approximately never.
A terrifying economic deadline that politicians invented to scare themselves into doing their jobs, which spoiler alert, rarely works. It's like procrastinating on a group project except the group project is the entire national economy.
The process of redrawing political maps that happens every ten years and somehow always ends with districts shaped like abstract art. It's the political equivalent of rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, except the chairs determine who runs the ship.
What every politician claims to have after winning an election, even if they won by twelve votes and a recount. It's essentially saying "the people have spoken" while ignoring that half the people said something completely different.
A gathering where politically passionate people stand in corners of a room like an awkward middle school dance, except instead of slow dancing they're arguing about tax policy. Democracy at its most cardio-intensive.
The noble ideal of both parties working together harmoniously, which occurs in practice about as often as a politician admits they were wrong. It's the political equivalent of a unicorn: beautiful in concept, invisible in reality.
A sneaky way to slip funding for your hometown's Museum of Lint into a defense spending bill. It's essentially hiding your grocery list inside someone else's term paper and hoping nobody reads the footnotes.
The person currently holding a political office who has the massive advantage of already being famous for holding that political office. It's like a game of king of the hill where the king also gets to design the hill.
A massive bill that contains so many unrelated items it reads like a grocery list written during an earthquake. It's how Congress passes a defense budget, a highway project, and funding for a llama research center all in one vote.
A voting threshold so high it basically requires near-unanimous agreement, which in Congress is like requiring cats and dogs to coordinate a synchronized swimming routine. It exists to make sure really big decisions have really big support, or more often, really big delays.
A fancy word for "voter" that politicians use when they want to sound like they actually remember you exist between elections. You're a constituent when they need your vote and a statistic the rest of the time.
When the government says "we can't decide, so you deal with it" and lets citizens vote directly on an issue. It's democracy's version of asking the audience, and just like on game shows, the audience doesn't always get it right.
A question on the ballot written in language so confusing that voting "yes" might mean "no" and nobody is entirely sure. It's democracy's version of a terms-and-conditions agreement that you have to read before clicking accept.
The same speech a politician gives four hundred times in different cities while pretending each audience is hearing it for the first time. It's the political version of a band playing their one hit at every county fair.
The official act of saying "yes, we actually agree to this thing we spent seven years arguing about." It's the governmental equivalent of finally signing the lease after touring the apartment forty-six times.
The congressional process of deciding who gets how much money, which is essentially a 535-person argument over splitting the check at the world's most expensive dinner. It's where dreams go to get a budget haircut.
The presidential right to keep certain information private, which is basically calling "no tag-backs" on sensitive documents. It's the constitutional equivalent of "I know something you don't know" but with significantly higher stakes.