Rome’s senate was a wildly dangerous place to be anywhere around. Most Roman emperors ended up as murder victims. I am not sure if the word victim is appropriate. The senators were always poisoning one another. Kidnapping one another. Executing one another. Plotting against one another. Murdering one another’s relatives and children. All of it kept alive by the buying and selling of slaves. It doesn’t work without the slaves. Elagabalus and his mother Julia Soaemias were murdered, their corpses dragged through the streets and dumped in the Tiber. It is amazing anyone ever made it to nine. But we are not the Romans. Actually, we are the Romans. Our senate is a nursing home mainly for rich old white men who play golf and are protected by private armies and more gatekeepers than contemporary publishing has spies. The senators are delivered to their offices by ambulance. Roman senators could get a new set of golf clubs every year. Our senators get educational trips to the French Riviera Golf Community and assorted maids. Today’s senators  all speak the same language: I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it. They all didn’t do it because not doing things is hard work and senators get thirsty. That is why the Romans had wine. I ask you: Would you buy a used car from a senator. They hide the gold in the freezer. Advise and consent. But mainly consent. They get all that free medical. I want free medical. They get free medical and all I ever get is a ride in an ambulance. – tim barrus