Trump’s making his habitual hand gestures as he talks. He looks angry, like a grumpy Ivan the Terrible, and I’m sure he’s on the attack. Trump’s whole gambit tonight might be to try and wear Biden down by interrupting, disrupting, knocking him out of rhythm. Trump’s like a fat boxer with no power who does nothing but lean and hang on his opponent. Is Chris Wallace doing anything to control Trump? Now it looks like a free-for-all.. WWE... What’s next, a water fight? Trump’s trying to show how virile and vigorous he is compared to creaky Joe. That will be Trump’s tweet at 1:00 a.m. TOTAL VICTORY OVER SLEEPY JOE BIDEN. TRUMP CRUSHED HIM. GREATEST PRESIDENT EVER. GREAT RATINGS! I need my gods and guides tonight, Hunter S. Thompson and Charles Bukowski, James Baldwin, Queen Toni Morrison. I need Sam Shepard and Chekov. I need to escape into one of Salman Rushdie’s dreams. Is this all we’ve got, America? I remind myself that this country is ruled by a minority of mostly white people, and Mitch McConnell’s slapping the mortar of minority rule into place as Trump snarls. (I keep getting texts from the Biden organization -- asking for money, of course.) I need a story of hope and redemption, one where evil men are dethroned and tried for their crimes, rather than rewarded with more wealth and power. Trump looks like a snarling dog, a Chihuahua/Rottweiler mix. I’m tempted to turn the sound on, just to let my ears confirm what my eyes are seeing, but it’s too risky to allow Trump’s voice into my head. Hideous orange face. Don’t blow it, Biden, don’t let Trump goad and annoy you into a mistake. Play your game, remember who you are and represent -- the majority of Americans, most of whom are decent, kind, and generous. Is Trump jabbering about Hunter Biden? Do Americans care about that? What does it prove? Trump should steer clear of comparing the exploits of grown children. The gene pool on Trump’s side is malignant, mutant. God, how long must this nation have to endure the TRUMP FAMILY? I shouldn’t have stopped drinking on August 1. A whiskey is very appealing right now, on this early fall night when the wine country of California is being torched. I will wait for the post-debate analysis, see what the talking heads and jib-jabbers have to say about this unsightly and unholy spectacle. Two aging gladiators. My buddy Leblanc from Michigan calls, he’s up late, sipping whiskey, and wants to know what I think of the debate. I explain my viewing strategy. I hear crickets outside. Trump looks agitated, bloated, and I think he wants to bite Biden’s neck...or maybe take an ear off, like Mike Tyson. Trump can’t be saying that he’s the greatest friend, ally, and protector of Black people in this nation’s history? But the fat fuck wouldn’t accept Barack Obama. Roll in your grave John Brown, roll yourself into the wide river and float away from this madness. You suffered your own. Hey, Donald, where were you when the music died? What’s your playlist when you want to woo the frosty Melania? Another text message. Apparently Trump is going berserk, but the Biden camp needs me to chip in $20 to save Joe. What the fuck? Leave me alone for a couple of days. I pay $12K a year in Federal taxes. I wish Joe could drop Trump with a straight right in the solar plexus. “Do you recall what was the deal the day the music died?” Shit, where did that come from? American pie. 1976? Light the torches, load your weapons, standby for the secret signal. Does Trump signal with his eyes, a combination of Eastwood-like squint-scowl-squint-smirk that sends the white boys into the streets? Has Trump claimed that Biden is the Grand Wizard of Antifa yet? This debate might never end, Chris Wallace may never stop asking questions. Is the flag in Trump’s lapel from one of the countries in which he pays taxes? Panama? Turkey? The Philippines? How many times will Trump say “law & order” tonight? He likes law and order yet he breaks the law almost daily and has led the nation into chaos. Trump plays the arsonist and the fireman; he sucks at the latter. It’s almost over. We must grasp the smallest miracles.
Wednesday, September 30, 2020
Debate Night in America - LIVE
Watching the first Biden-Trump debate with the sound off, partly to study the body language of the contestants, but mostly because I cannot stand to hear Trump’s voice. It’s bad enough to see his face. Looks like he’s trying to bully Biden. I should listen but I simply can’t bear it. Trump doesn’t debate, he just tries to take the thing over. Is he talking over Biden? I can’t believe this is what it comes to, the utterly corrupt and soulless Trump against Biden whose time and prime is long past. I’ve been hanging left in the political jockstrap for a long time now and I am familiar with Joe Biden’s record. Yet, I’ve donated to his campaign. I feel compelled to because for good or ill he’s carrying my hope. Of all the things that torment me in this time of Covid, wildfires, hurricanes, financial calamity, and Donald J. Trump, the single most destructive human being of my lifetime, the idea that I’m not doing anything to fight back is the heaviest of my burdens.
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