Ten times the GOoPers who want the American people to make them president in 2012 have appeared in nationally televised debates. And yet here it is, only mid-October of 2011.
Jeebus wept. All our trials, lord. When will they be over.
I had not viewed the first nine debates. But had begun to believe I should. Tune in to these people. At least once. For from what I had read, they are about establishing a new nadir in American political discourse. Too, as a person who has not yet returned to television, I had not actually seen several of these people in physical motion. And that can be vital. In determining whether or not a person constitutes a Menace.
I had a dream Tuesday morning set in Las Vegas. And Tuesday night’s debate would occur in Las Vegas. So. I interpreted that as a Sign. And so I watched. Here on my gnome computer. Below is what I experienced.
Things I notice right off. Newt Gingrich is fat. Ron Paul’s eyebrow toupees are, for the moment, properly affixed. Anderson Cooper is gay.
Cooper instructs the candidates to “take your podiums.” What does that mean? I assume it is some variation on “take your seats,” but it sounds stupid. Reminds me of when my brother and I would listen to baseball games on the radio, and the announcer would say “the runners are taking their leads,” and my brother would contort himself into the aspect of a rock guitarist blazing out a solo.
I would like it if the candidates would “take” their podiums and begin marching around with them through the audience. Like the time Desi Arnez took his congas out among the people on Saturday Night Live. That would be an interesting way to begin this debate.
But no. Instead there is the national anthem. I turn down the sound on my gnome computer, because it is against my religion to listen to the national anthem. The person singing it is apparently a veteran of Phantom Of The Opera, which seems appropriate: a play about a madman who terrorizes women and burns up in a fire.
I notice that Mitt Romney is breathing through his mouth. Literally a mouth-breather?
Cooper announces that the first question is a twit received via Twitter, and jibbers something about “hashtags.” I loathe the term “hashtag.” “Hash” is a cretinous food I sometimes had to eat as a kid, and “tags” are sticky things in colors not found in nature that you put on your car license-plate when you register it. What they have to do with a medium of communication that limits itself to 144 characters, thus rendering it impossible for anyone to really get anything across, unless they are Heraclitus or Lao Tze, beats me.
Rick Santorum says he should be president because he has seven children. Ye gods. I find it interesting that he is no longer counting Gabriel, the miscarriage, the deceased ur-person he and his wife brought home from the hospital and passed around among the living children for a while. Oh well. All things must pass, I guess.
Herman Cain numbers among his qualifications the fact that he has been married for 48 years. Hell, Gingrich can beat that. He’s been married for at least that long, and to more wives than Solomon.
Ron Paul asserts that he should be president because he is a “champion of liberty.” Except when he wants to lash women and doctors into the pokey for disrespecting fetal tissue. At which time he is Mr. Occupy Womb Street.
Rick Perry looks more like a farm animal than a human being. He appears to be the result of an experiment that sought to cross a man with a steer. I’d say the experiment failed. For an obvious side-effect of this Island of Dr. Moreau monkeying with nature is that Perry was born without a brain. He is like that episode of Star Trek where Spock’s brain was lifted entirely out of his body. Dan Quayle was dim, so was George II; Perry is simply dumb. Never have I seen a man so dumb on the national political stage. What do people in other countries think, when they see this cow-man treated like an actual serious person? This is why it is Wrong to view such things without opiates.
Someone has sucked all the bones out of Mitt Romney’s arms. They dangle there, lifelessly, at his sides.
Gingrich has no hair. There is silver paint on his head that looks like hair. But it isn’t, really.
Michele Bachmann is wearing a bizarre white uniform sort of assembly that is like a cross between a flight attendant and a Navy cadet. She has way too many teeth, and she shows them far too often. It is possible that she comes from the same Moreau island as hatched Perry, and is the relict of an experiment involving breeding a human with a miniature horse.
A man nearly as obese as Chris Christie rumbles out of his seat in the audience to ask the candidates if they would replace the federal income tax with a federal sales tax.
Bachmann whinnies that this is an idea terrible, as “liberals” in Congress would soon raise any such sales tax to 90%. Paul agrees that the idea is thoroughly wrong, because it “raises revenue.” Then something goes strange with his face. Stroke?
Perry twice calls Cain “my brother.” Where, goddamit, is the codeine? Everyone knows that Perry really wants to call Cain “Niggerhead,” but understands that he better not.
Santorum says that Cain’s national sales tax plan is “well meaning,” but that what the government really needs to do is encourage people to ceaselessly push out children, like his wife does. He commences to rend his garments that children are not being born in Europe, and weeps that the same may soon not-happen in the US.
Cain pouts that his plan is perfectly fine, says no one should pay any attention to any analysis of it except the one that he offers, and “invite[s] every American to do their own math.” Yeah, there’s a great idea.
Bachmann starts yammering about how “I take a page out of that theory.” I don’t understand why Sarah Palin didn’t enter this race. Standing next to Bachmann, she’d come off as a veritable mental wizard. Bachmann is plowing through fields of complete incoherency, punctuated by chirps of “real jobs right now,” which I guess is her new mantra.
Perry is undergoing a numerology seizure. He says what matters is not Cain’s 9-9-9 tax plan, or Romney’s 59-point plan, but 9% unemployment. The heck with these people, and their number nines. They make about as much sense as this Number Nine:
Santorum suddenly starts speaking heresy, introducing the term “income mobility” as if he invented it, but then correctly noting that people born into the lower economic echelons in Europe enjoy greater success in rising through the ranks than do Americans. This is the sort of truth that is not supposed to be spoken in America. What has happened to Mr. Man-On-Dog? What next? Flashing the peace sign, and chanting “power to the people”?
Okay. Now Santorum has returned to Normal. He wants to repeal all regulations governing American manufacturing, so we can go back to the days of The Jungle. “Nineteenth Century Now!”
Gingrich is old and has lots of excess flesh on and drooping off his face. His tie is purple, and it is crooked. He has more wives than Carter has pills, but none of them seem interested in helping him dress so that he is fit to be seen in public.
Santorum and Romney are barking at one another about who more hates “Obamacare.” I think these people should be issued bladders, like the clowns of Olde Europe, and when they get to fussin’ like this, they can start wailing on one another with them.
During the Santorum/Romney bladder-combat, Bachmann is neighing “Anderson! Anderson! Anderson! Anderson!” but nobody pays any attention to her.
Paul’s right eyebrow-toupee is falling off again! Jiminy Christmas, is the man such a miser he won’t even buy any glue?
The bone-removal in Romney’s arms seems most pronounced when Perry is speaking. Who is in charge of this voodoo?
Perry is confronted with the fact that in his Texas millions of people don’t have health insurance. He claims this is the fault of a 1200-mile border with Mexico; brown people swarm over it like rats, and then refuse to be insured. I am meanwhile consulting the United States Constitution, and discover that no, there actually is no provision in there that prevents a bovine Cro-Magnon Man from running for president.
Perry and Romney are now going at it with the bladders. Perry says Romney should keep his yap shut about illegals, because he hired some; Romney says he never hired an illegal in his life. He publicly confesses to naked political ambition, when he chewed out the people who contracted to take care of his lawn: “I said, ‘you can’t have any illegals working on our property. I’m running for office, for pete’s sake, we can’t have illegals.’” As the bladder-beating continues, Romney lays hands on Perry, then thinks better of it, and whines to Cooper to make Perry “stop taking my time.” Jeebus. The man is calling for his mommy.
Cain is saying that he both does and does not want to electrocute brown people coming over the border. Perry wants to man the border with a bunch of gun-totin’ good ol’ boys who’ll be told where to go and who to shoot by drones hovering in the sky. Bachmann says the problem is that Obama’s aunt and uncle are in the country illegally, and that English needs to be the nation’s official language.
Gingrich looks like he’s crying.
These people are now fixated on magnets. Romney wants to “turn off the magnets.” Bachmann opines that “I think there is a very real issue with magnets in this country.”
Paul’s shoulders are hunched over like an old man’s. He should be wearing a sweater.
Suddenly a tremendous number of words are flowing out of Gingrich’s mouth. But I can’t focus on them, because I keep wondering why none of his innumerable wives made sure his tie was on correctly.
Paul is not wearing any rings. Why? I thought he liked precious metals.
Santorum says he loves him some Latinos because they breed and pray like he does. Then he’s into the bladders again, taking on Cain, Romney, and Perry, all at once, for their alleged support of TARP.
Bachmann interrupts this all-boy mayhem to go deeply stupid about her tour of “the moms of America.” These moms, says she, “are closing their nests.”
“Hold on moms!” she chirps. “It’s not too late!”
I just want to get one thing straight here. I am not an American. I have nothing to do with this woman.
Side-view of Paul: his nose is extremely long, with a ski-slope thing to it. If I were an editorial cartoonist, I would concentrate on this feature.
Cain says the Occupy Wall Street people are all wet: they should be protesting Obama—he’s the problem. Paul says they should be besieging the Federal Reserve, which he identifies as Satan’s imp.
An hour, this holocaust. How long does it go on?
Now everybody gets to weigh in on whether Romney is “really” a Christian. Because of the underpants thing.
Every once in a while Gingrich reminds us why it would be better to tear the White House down than let him occupy it. To wit: “Faith matters. How can you have judgement if you have no faith? And how can I trust you with power if you don’t pray?”
Romney states, correctly, that the Constitution does not permit a “religious test” for candidates for federal office. However, this is not going to go down well with the GOoPer “base.” Because the simple truth is that this “base” does not want Romney as their nominee, because he fails their “religious test.” Because he does not wear the same underpants as do they.
Bachmann says the US is not respected internationally because of The Negro. This Negro has let things run so totally wild that Iranians who can’t match their socks are plotting to kill Saudis right here on American soil. The number-one problem in the world, so spake she, is Iran obtaining a nuclear weapon; “that makes all of us much danger,” she says, in that inimitable Bachmann pidgin.
Gingrich thunders that cutting $500 billion from the defense budget would “shoot ourselves in the head,” is “suicidally stupid,” and is something considered only by “historically illiterate politicians.”
Paul counters that “it’s time to come home,” that “we have an empire, we can’t afford it, empires always bring great nations down,” and that the last great empire to fall was the USSR . . . after going into Afghanistan.
This is one of those times when everybody both on stage and in the audience pretends that Paul isn’t there.
Cain is again eternally recurring in confusion, this time over whether he would or would not release Guantanamo prisoners in order to receive in return an American “hostage.” He first said he would, then said he wouldn’t, now says he would and wouldn’t. He is the Schrödinger’s Cat of American politics. Every question is answered with both yes and no, until one takes the lid off the box that is his mouth. He is a Quantum Man, except that instead of being both a wave and a particle, he is both “yes” and “no.”
Paul is leaning forward like he has cramps, or is maybe going to vomit.
Santorum says that no American president can negotiate with any terrorists ever, for any reason, that “the first duty of the President of the United States is to protect us.” That’s right: Daddy.
Ye gods, now the eyebrow-toupee over Paul’s left eye is slipping. And he’s getting really animated about something, rocking around like a cranky old man holding forth on a porch.
A woman who killed a zebra and then put its skin over her body wants to know from the audience why in the sam hill the US gives aid to ferriners. Perry chunders that not only should foreign aid be eliminated, but that he is also about “defunding the UN.” Hot damn! A John Bircher, circa 1958, is running for president!
Romney decides to kick the Chinese, saying he doesn’t see why the US borrows money from China and then shovels it out into the world as “humanitarian aid”; the Chinese should pay it direct, he smirks.
Paul’s lips have disappeared. Next debate: lip-toupee.
One of them is genuflecting before Ronald Racist Reagan, saying he cleaves, as did Reagan, to “peace through strength,” except he wants to amend it to “strength and clarity,” but I don’t even know who it is, because all I can think of is clarified butter—ghee—and I realize I need to make Indian food.
Paul suddenly runs amok and publicly offends God by recounting that Lord Reagan negotiated with terrorists like a motherfucker. He compounds this sin by uttering the inconvenient truth that the people in Guantanamo are not “terrorists” but “suspects: they haven’t been convicted of anything.”
Gingrich restores order by mournfully noting that he was close to Lord Reagan in the deity’s final days, and that The Lord truly believed he had not negotiated with terrorists, and, once he realized he had, he regarded it as such a grievous sin that he immediately plunged into Alzheimer’s disease, so that he wouldn’t have to remember it.
Romney says he’s the man to beat Obama because he spent so many years in the private sector. Cain counters that he’s better, because he worked for Main Street, whereas Romney worked for Wall Street. Santorum says that 50% of the American people don’t even know who any of them are, so it’s a little premature to talk about who might best beat Obama.
Perry says he’s a better candidate than Romney because he doesn’t wear funny underpants, and he will provide a good “contrast” to Obama, because Obama is black, while Perry has on his ranch a rock that says “Niggerhead.”
Cooper abruptly shuts them all up by saying “the campaigns” have decided that the debate has run overtime, and now must end. Bachmann begins whinnying in protest, ululating that “the good news is the cake is baked! Obama will be a one-term president!” Meanwhile, Paul can be heard squeaking “but I had the best answer!”
No. You did not. Lou Reed did.