Fifteen Minutes

Know what? This shit is making me crazy. The mainstream media has just devoted an entire day to whether Our Man was sexist when he utilized an expression that I’ve even heard from my own Father’s mouth. My Father wasn’t talking about women, he was talking about Republicans.

They want you to believe they’ve never heard the expression before?

McCain has used it and so has Clinton.

I don’t care what he meant when he said it. It was either innocent or excellent swordsmanship. If he meant it, he wasn’t being sexist, he was calling her a dipshit.

Fifteen Minutes is all she has. Perhaps more of an empty suit than Dumbya. Been nowhere done nothing, disingenuous hockey mom from Wasilla Alaska. Had to look up the spelling.

This is fucking ridiculous. It won’t last, but please.

When Doubtfire first announced her, I was confused. Dumbfounded. I gathered my thoughts and faculties and arrived at the judgement that it was the most cynical and profoundly ridiculous move in contemporary politics I’d ever seen.

I was right. It is. I admit I’m mouth breathing over the interest, sensation and spectacle surrounding the entire debacle, but I’m here to tell you, it won’t last. She brings nothing. She has nothing. It may look like a brilliant move this week, within two weeks, it will be over save for the shouting.

I’m hoping sooner.

Our Man played his bishop on the chessboard with Biden. McCain took a pawn out of his pocket, painted with sparkly nail polish and placed it on the board with a reluctant palsy. He realized it was plastic and it’s weight confused his geriatric hand. He briefly forgot what he was doing when he noticed the rest of the pieces were made of marble. He took a drink of his diet soda and struggled to remember.

Despite it all, the great unwashed did a standing O and then executed a near flawless wave. Tens of them.

As I write this, a private jet lands on some tarmac in Alaska accompanied by the theme music from Top Gun. Top Gun? Sheezus. Seriously, it’s live on CNN.

By the way, She’ll be relying on a teleprompter to address her home crowd. So far, they’re not willing to let her work without a full body condom. What does that tell you?

Empty boilerplate rhetoric, POW regurgitation and talk of a tough “maverick” delivered in a breathless rush from a cheerleader running for student body vice president with the crutch of a teleprompter. Fuck me.

A heartbeat from the Presidency. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Seriously America, work with me here. It’s about the top of the ticket until the top of one of the tickets could die at any moment and his chosen successor sucks donkey dick.

Did I say that or think it?


Drinks for my friends.

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