More Fear and Loathing On The Campaign Trail 2016
I mean, you guys do nothing but complain about how you can't stand it in this place
here and you don't have the guts just to walk out? What do you think you are, for
Chrissake, crazy or somethin'? Well you're not! You're not! You're no crazier than
the average @$$hole out walkin' around on the streets and that's it. –Randal
McMurphy, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest
McMurphy, they are voting. – Trevor Soderstrum
Before I begin this column, did you catch the big game a few weeks back? How
about that broken down old man that none of the experts gave a chance coming
through to shock the world? Oh, you think I am talking about Bronco’s quarterback
Peyton Manning. No, Bernie Sanders. I am sure there was Lipitor, Flomax, and Exlon
being passed around like candy in his hotel room that night after he won in New
Hampshire and he partied down like it was 1899, at least until it was 9:30 p.m. when
he finally fell asleep in his chair.
Why do I think Donald Trump’s next campaign slogan is going to be “Brawndo’s
Got What Plants Crave”? The future reality of the movie Idiocracy with its reality
star/pro wrestler President of the United States, is starting to look like a wonderful
alternative to the 2016 run for the White House. The Brawndo line is just as dumb
as “I’m going to build a wall and make Mexico pay for it.” Our pro wrestler/reality
star future possible president is a mean idiot. Theirs was nice. Our voters, mean
idiots. Their voters, well-meaning idiots
The Republicans have narrowed it down to a choice between an orangutan
throwing his fecal matter in a zoo or a return to the salad days of Watergate in Ted
Cruz. I am not saying the Democrats are much better with Bernie and Hillary, who
seem more like an old Jewish couple in Florida arguing over the price of toast at the
early bird special than presidential material. Still, I keep telling myself, we made it
through eight years with a president who could not string a sentence together, we
can survive four years of one of these bozos… I hope… Remember those billboards of
George W. Bush with the line “miss me?” Next year, and I never thought I would say
this, I might.
The race for the presidency 2016 or as I am calling it, American’s have a temper
tantrum like a five-year-old, continues. Mom and dad Barack did not let them eat the
entire chocolate cake and now voters are trashing their bedroom called this country
to teach mommy and daddy a lesson.
Remember when this country used to be run by half in the bag drunk adults who
thought twitter was something you did with one of your interns in the backseat of
their town car, but at least the bills got paid and things got done. Well, the voters
have spoken. The 2016 presidential election cycle has resembled The Island of Dr.
Moreau meets The Munsters and that is the way the voters wanted it. This is not a
bunch of candidates you would want in charge of the password to your Facebook
page let alone the nuclear launch codes.
Still, the winnowing down of the candidates continues. Gone is Rand Paul. There is
no word as to whether this awful toupee is still in the race or not. (Someone needs
to talk to poor Rand. America was never going to allow him to run for two offices at
once. He had to choose. It was either the presidency of the United States or the
presidency of The Hair Club for Men. You cannot hold both offices.)
Now in a normal year the libertarian candidate is usually the biggest nut in the
field. He is usually the one that would have Dr. Hannibal Lecter crawling under his
cell bunk in terror. Not this year. Even the nuts that stand in front of you in line at
the bookstore and ask the poor clerk where their copies of the Constitution are have
abandoned Rand. His “this is not your father’s libertarianism” campaign failed
miserably and has been banished back to the realm of former frat rats and meth-ed
out truckers. (Libertarianism is the hobgoblin of an untrained mind.)
Jeb Bush got shown the door, even though he had the political connections and
funds. Poor Jeb always seemed a little befuddled, like someone had dropped an ice
cube down the crack of his backside. Having not been on the campaign trail in over
dozen years, he never got in tune with modern Republican politics. Plus, that elite
prep school fight, really closer to wet noodle slapping, with Donald Trump killed
him. He came off in his war with the Donald more like a foxy boxer or the third best
Jell-O wrestler in the sorority rather than a genuine tough guy.
In the end it was his last name that never allowed him to get off the ground and
ultimately killed him. When your main claim to fame is that you are the smart Bush
brother that is not a very high hurdle, more akin to a track event in the Lilliputian
Olympics than a reason for voters to rally to him.
Chris Christie, every GOP voters’ dream boat, well, dream boat that looked like he
had eaten his way out from underneath an overturned semi-trailer full of KFC
chicken, four years ago that they hope would come calling could never get any
Oh, I am sorry, that transition to talking about Donald Trump was not as smooth as
I would have liked. There was only room for one tri-state loud mouth in the
electorate’s heart and it was not the outlaw Jersey whale. Surprisingly, at the end of
the day Christie lost because he could never find his voice.
John Kasich and Martin O’Malley would have been perfect candidates for the
presidency two or three decades ago, charismatically challenged, boring white
males from the Paul Tsongas/George H.W. Bush/Walter Mondale school of
politicians. The kind of politicians that have adorable children but are so dry and
passionless that you are never quite sure how the kiddos came into being.
Instead we are in the post-Bill Clinton, attention deficit disorder, need to say
something to move the needle 24-hour news cycle nastiness era. Sorry Trump
supporters, nothing good or morally uplifting for the nation has ever been tweeted
in between pieces of toilet paper while sitting on the john.
There used to be this notion that presidential candidates were supposed to act,
what is the word, it will come to me in a second, oh, yeah, presidential. Maintaining
dignity/respect, that kind of thing. Donald Trump has used profanity in his rallies
that would have made George Carlin and Richard Pryor do a double take, or at least
had Tipper Gore want to slap a warning label on his lapel. Lyndon Johnson and
Richard Nixon swore like sailors, being former navy Commanders, but they did not
do it on stages in front of crowds and open microphones. Nixon became bent out of
shape during Watergate at the thought of the American people discovering that
their president had a potty mouth. Somewhere along the way both parties have lost
respect for the dignity of the office. Our presidential candidates should not try to be
the cool divorced dad (or mom), but be the adult in the room.
By the way, it is also not very presidential to say you want to punch somebody in
the crowd, particularly when the closest you have possibly ever come to a real fight
is when you probably kicked your butler in the knees as a kid for laying out the
wrong socks on your bed when he helped dress you in the morning. All a person
needs to know about Trump’s toughness is his three-story penthouse apartment is
modeled on Versailles with so much gold leaf everywhere it looks like a leprechaun
got drunk and threw up all over the place. For you Trump supporters, Versailles was
the home of effeminate French kings, the people that taught the world to be rude
and self-centered, lived in their own reality, and wore long stockings, basically, the
Trumps of their time, just without the New York accent.
Let the voters eat cake, I guess.