Night moves, day moves, afternoon moves, this boy’s got all the stamina the contenders in the Chicago Marathon hope they’ll have Sunday morning in Lincoln Park. And our boy doesn’t need any pacers to get him up to speed, either. He’s always ready for action.
You just can’t keep up with the big guy. The second you try to wrap your head around one imbecilic, misogynistic, xenophobic comment, he just drops in another double-nut frat boy surge of douchebaggery to trump it.
Got an itch, got an urge. This boy has all the self-control of a 14 year-old with a Juggs magazine and a wad of tissues. Yet somehow to a frightening percentage of the electorate this is the guy, the one to wrest the red, white, and blue away from the media/Elite/Washington insiders who would put us in this spot of bother. It’s a paradoxical confabulation, for sure.
His advisors, such as they are, do everything they can to control the big Bozo, but none of them seem able to rein in the candidate’s Fat Bastard tendencies, nor slow down his blazing a trail to the presidency through Ape Shit Town.
And because he has all the impulse control of a feces slinger, he blathers on thinking he’s making big sense rather than spewing utter nonsense. And yet he gets a pass on substance for dint of his blazing poop-throwing style.
Needless to say, the more genteel among the electorate stand mutely horrified, and see this as a character right off the Animal Channel, delusional enough to believe, and with a band of merry (white) men who are willing to risk, that he is the sine qua non of potential presidential excellence, a real game changer like St. Reagan, though without the Gipper’s charm, reading skills, or wings.
Increasingly, though, the world is seeing less and less entertainment value in this Back to the Future Biff candidacy, and seeing more and more danger in the Baby Huey nation that nominated and may actually elect him.
Imagine that nut job with real power!
Somehow he keeps forgetting, it’s “walk softly and carry a big stick”‘ not “blather loudly and act like a big dick.”
Thing is, he has the eminently beatable Traveling Pantsuit on the other side of ballot pushing her own smart-cart of personal baggage, such as setting up her own email server while working for Uncle Sam, and acting smugly self-congratulatory after winning the first debate by just not being him, hardly worthy of a curtain call.
But though he has yet to offer any non-batshit evidence of his suitability for the office, this is the year of the batshit crazies. Yep, the government is behind Hurricane Matthew, don’t you know.
This is all comes back on the 1% who thought they could run the country like an antebellum plantation with their field overseers in Congress writing rules that supported their financial interests at the expense of the lowly field hands without thinking there would ever be consequences.
If you don’t give them something to do, or a path to follow, they will find something on their own, and somebody else to follow.
And now this flash mob has legs, and they can smell the barn. First, they chose their champion over 16 other Republican rivals, many of whom who were well qualified. Now they are verging on doing the same in the general election against an old warhorse with Potomac Horse Fever.
There is a we-don’t-care attitude in play in this election. It’s been coming for a long time. It is a little bit like all those decades when the Soviet commissars kept telling the Russian people, “don’t worry, comrades, communism is much better than free market capitalism. Here, have another turnip.”
Finally, when they couldn’t control the information seeping in to the people any longer, the Soviet Union simply folded.
Change? Us? Absolutely. But after the release of this latest party hearty bus jam with Billy Bush from Access Hollywood in 2005, you just wonder how how much more poop can the RNC let this guy sling before there’s just not enough Febreeze left over to spray around all the polling stations to cover the smell on November 8th?