What a state of affairs.
After watching TB12’s victorious comeback from Deflategate as a final FU to Roger Goodell and a tough loss for my bro-in-law’s Eagles, I decided to watch the two-ring circus known as the second presidential debate.
Before the thing started I decided to treat myself in the form of a nightcap, a Maple Bourbon which is a mixed drink consisting of bourbon, Bailey’s, maple syrup, and cinnamon.
First things first, talking about whatever you want after someone has asked you a question does not mean that you’re answering the question.
So there’s that.
Not too many minutes in I wondered whether Saturday Night Live was paying him to write next week’s episode.
Then four thoughts came together to further addle my brain, which was still trying to process the whole no-handshake thing. Good manners are always in style. Full stop.
1. The sniffles. Like beyond a head cold and more akin to Mary Katherine Gallagher when she gets nervous.
2. Bill Clinton. He’s not running so who cares whether he has said or done worse than Trump? Who cares about NAFTA? Repeat: Bill Clinton is not running. That whole deflection strategy might work on children but…
3. The locker room banter. Troubling on so many fronts. Insulting to locker rooms everywhere. Not to mention to the humans who change and shower in those locker rooms. Then the whole “it’s only words” and repeated “I apologized BUT…” stuff? I need a president willing to be accountable.
4. Respect. No one respects women more than he does? At that point I started to feel bad for him–such delusional narcissism. But that didn’t last long when I remembered how many people are willing to rationalize everything away. “Yeah but…” isn’t the basis for any decent argument. If that’s respecting women, if I were Caitlyn I might consider going back to Bruce.
Beyond that, he repeatedly asks why Hillary hasn’t done _____________ in 30 years. Doesn’t he realize that one Senator alone can’t change Federal tax policy or do anything for that matter? But then he brags that he’ll put her in jail, and all is clear–he has a dictator fantasy.
He interrupts, he complains of unequal treatment, he whines that it’s 3 on 1. When all is said and done he’s talked more than she has.
And in the end, neither of them has given a single substantive answer.
God bless America.
And go Red Sox.