Plays by Robert Bowie, Jr…

When American politics finally pushes you over the edge, I can save you.

I’ve been there.

Right now it’s even worse than when I ran for office in 2014 in a gerrymandered Republican district.

I could feel the country dividing and polarizing, so I decided to run — even though I was told I had little or no chance. Susan, my future wife, along with the two other Democrats in the district, knocked on 5,000 doors and raised $150,000.

I was trying to win one of three seats that had been held by Republicans for a decade. The Republican I was trying to defeat had been convicted of (1) pouring used automobile oil into the Chesapeake Bay, (2) multiple drunk driving offenses, and (3) attempting to run over his mother with his truck. He was recently removed from office for campaign violations — his headquarters were in the wrong district and he was using them as a personal storage shed.

When you lose an election to somebody like that, and you’ve routinely been treated badly while knocking on doors, you’ve effectively ended your political career before it gets started. The alternative is to take up the writing of poetry or the writing of plays, which I have done.

I suffered endless indignities on the campaign trail, some of which I have not recovered from yet.

Like the lady who answered the door in a trailer park wearing a Sunday-morning muumuu. After my pitch, I closed with my signature line: “And if you’re worried about term limits, I’m over 65 — nature will take care of that in my case.”

She paused, contemplated what I had just told her, looked at me, and said, “I’m not sure I can talk to you right now because I don’t have any underwear on.”

I still don’t know what the proper answer to that should have been. She followed it up with “R or D?” When I answered “I’m a fiscally conservative Democrat,” she slammed the door in my face before I could finish with “and I oppose gerrymandering.”

I am still waiting for my Purple Heart from the Democratic Party.

There is only one place where you can regain a healthy consciousness. The answer: extreme shallow water yoga.

I’m sure you can feel my pain even after all these years, because I am now revealing something obviously very precious to me.

It’s a little dangerous, but it’s worth it.

Try it now. The time is right.

When our President is losing a war he started for no good reason other than thinking he could win it in one day — and then sits down to play chess with Iran to (1) negotiate the elimination of a nuclear arsenal he previously claimed he had already destroyed, (2) get terms of settlement that the world, including Russia, China, Iran, and the United States, had already agreed to back in 2015 before he pulled out in 2018, and (3) demonstrates with his first moves that he doesn’t know the rules of checkers, let alone chess — the world suddenly realizes he doesn’t understand, as you do, that every subsequent move plays into checkmate. Iran is playing on his narcissism and lies to turn our allies against us, create inflation at home, and generate an international crisis we’ll be blamed for for years.

You have to start by calming your own mind under the pressure of all this stupidity.

You gotta get a scuba tank and sit at the bottom of a swimming pool until a hand breaks the surface and signals you to come up for lunch.

It works! And here’s why: yoga requires mindful breathing. Underwater, this comes naturally — as you exhale, you’ll hear the bubbles pass your ears, and breathing stays top of mind because if you stop, you’ll drown.

I don’t want to scare you off, so here are some safety tips. Place a lawn chair in the deep end — but skip the safety belts. You want to be able to rise to the surface if you reach a meditative state so powerful you can hear angels singing. Just make sure it’s not nitrogen narcosis. Know the difference.

It is that relaxing.

Instead of a chair, try a pair of boxer shorts with huge pockets and one of those rip-away jerseys football players wear so they can’t be tackled. Fill both with lead. You can then disrobe underwater and easily return to the surface — the pants and shirt rip off instantly as you rush for air.

As a worst-case scenario, you can hold barbells in both hands. Fair warning: jumping into a pool with large barbells tends to create massive waves that break outside the pool, and even jumping in feet-first, the barbells will likely send you headfirst to the bottom at speed. That said, barbells do eliminate any shirt problems, and you can simply let go if you lose consciousness while reaching Nirvana — or if you start confusing inner peace with nitrogen narcosis, and the angels calling you from the deep-end drain start sounding a little too compelling.

A final note of caution: check with your insurance company, as there may be no coverage if you die.

Of course, I could be wrong. Trump seems very confident. After all, he’s been debating the Pope and has posted portraits of himself as Jesus on Truth Social.