In case you’ve been living under a rock since last fall: GET BACK UNDER THE ROCK. You’re a lot safer down there. We up in the United States have been having a knock-down drag-out bare-knuckled cage fight of a primary season ahead of November’s presidential election. It’s a sight to behold. It’s like the Wars of the Roses, if the Wars of the Roses had been fought on a sound stage with unbelievably kitschy red, white and blue decoration. It’s like The Terror, if during The Terror no one had been beheaded but only accused of having a small penis. It’s like Game of Thrones if Game of Thrones was a comedy. It’s like The Rocky Horror Picture Show, insofar as I think Frank N. Furter and Ted Cruz got their eyebrows done at the same salon. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
This year, our principal warring factions have been a grandma who is known for being steely and heartless; a bespectacled old Jewish man who is considered too liberal with money; a Cuban named Rafael with the exact same voice and accent as Droopalong from Riccochet Rabbit, who fancies himself a white Southern aristocrat; and a New York billionaire who is xenophobic white trash. So, at least you can definitively say that America does not play to stereotypes anymore. At one point there was a fat guy, another woman, a Bush and a soft-spoken old man, but they didn’t really stand a chance. Sarah Palin wasn’t even running, but showed up with a word salad anyway.
In this primary season we have had mudslinging and conspiracy theories like you would not believe. No, seriously, I don’t think anyone believes these. There were nasty defaming ones such as that Ted Cruz, despite having been a baby at the time, is actually the Zodiac Killer and also the lead singer for Stryper, though personally I think he looks more like Ardath Bey from The Mummy. Speaking of The Mummy, it was alleged by one candidate that the Egyptian Pyramids actually were not burial structures. That’s right, they were granaries, and all the historic rumors about gold and treasure and beautifully adorned coffins were just decoys to deter the grave robbers from the real prize: bushels and bushels of thousand-year-old barley and wheat. I’ll bet you could make a hell of a strong home brew out of thousand-year-old barley and wheat, which is probably what Rubio was drinking when he made fun of Trump’s short stubby fingers on national television. Said finger remark led Trump to give the sensible and measured response of bragging about his penis, also on national television. Yet, very few people have mentioned that Cruz has Dumbo ears. And the left side of the aisle is not free from controversy either. Hillary Clinton has taken every opportunity imaginable to remind everyone she worked for President Obama and to allege that Bernie Sanders is being mean to the president. And nobody will stop talking about the rich and nuanced topic of Hillary Clinton’s cell phone, except for those of us who fall asleep from pure boredom when it’s mentioned.
I have enjoyed watching this year’s candidate debates. Debates have an odd kind of charm to them; they’re like a sporting match but with no ball, and with everyone claiming to be on the same team, yet with each person claiming to be team captain and accusing the others of not being on the team at all. And every time a player is eliminated, that player turns around and graciously endorses one of the players he was just accusing of being a turncloak. The debates have moderators, whose job is to ring a bell which the Pavlovian effect of making the candidates ignore the bell and speak more loudly. There is also always in attendance someone who sings the National Anthem and squeals an octave too high on the word “free.” From these debates I have come to expect that a Republican debate always consists of a group of rich men arguing over who hates the government the most and would be most adept at dismantling the whole thing from the ground up “on the very first day in office.” The winner of the debate, the one who convinces home viewers that they want to destroy the government most thoroughly, gets elected as the party nominee to run for a chance at being in charge of said government– kind of like hiring Saint Patrick to tend your pet snake. A Democratic debate is more staid, but involves rich people talking over one another to claim that every single social, moral and physical ill can be solved by the steady application of more and larger government programs. These are people who would apply a multi-level government agency to a hemorrhoid and suggest another when the first didn’t work. And for all I know, it would.
So, who am I endorsing for president? I bet you’re all on the edge of your seats for my endorsement. I haven’t wanted to use this blog for political purposes, but it’s time I spilled the beans. I’m going to endorse a man whose fiery temper and impulsiveness have earned him a reputation; a man whose leathery skin and increasingly unique hair have won the bemused admiration of our whole country. This man is a talented leader, known for decisive action in the face of crisis. He is both a tyrant and a mentor. He’s famed for lavishly rewarding anyone who pleases him and brutally punishing those who fall short– just the man we want to tend the Big Red Button. True, his area of expertise is not politics, but he is a rich man with properties in many of the swankest vacation spots the world over–and better still, he’s a reality television star. You can all guess who I mean. Yes, that’s right. Steel Magnificat is endorsing Chef Gordon Ramsay for president.
And now, I’m going to go crawl under a rock.
(Image courtesy of Pixabay)