Party Unity Morass

Nice Kitty would like a bath, wouldn’t Nice Kitty?

We were actually hoping for a Bernie-Trump debate. First, it would have been fun: A Geezerpalooza for the ages. Second, it would have settled months-long chatter: Could Bernie actually stand up to The Other Great Orange Satan like we all think he could?

Serious People thought the very idea was a sham, of course. What would Trump have to lose debating the Democrat Loser? And what would Bernie have to gain, except for more opprobrium from the Demrat Establishment for disrupting Hillary’s coronation?

Actually, Trump would have had a lot to lose: Humiliation, the worst thing that could happen to a bully. A Bernie “debate win” would have shown that not only was it possible, but how to do it. Hillary could take notes from the audience.

Conversely, a Bernie Loss would have settled the otherwise unanswerable question whether the polls reflected his strength when actually tossed into the campaign fire. We’d all like to think that, but Shit Happens in the moment. Y’all will recall the Big Freakout when Obama slept through his first debate with Romney.

But it appears not to be, unless Trump delegate (and actual billionaire) Peter Thiel would care to divert $10 million from his Righteous Gawker Crusade to meet his candidate’s demands for funding the event.

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We Were Promised Punch & Pie

No Fleetwood Mac for you!

Well, that didn’t take long.

A couple of weeks ago, champagne corks were popping as we were duly instructed to celebrate shamelessly over Trump’s effective nomination. Republicans in disarray! Congressional rats deserting the ship! Better confirm that moderate Justice now, cuz Hillary’s gonna appoint Raul Castro soon as she gets back from the Inaugural!

And then the post-nomination national polls started coming out. Whoops!

We still consider national polls next to worthless, but they do have a value in getting folks to shut the fuck up.

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Donald Trump’s Guide to Women

All in the taint.

Our guest columnist is “John Miller”, who totally isn’t Donald Trump, really, why would you even think that, speaking on the phone to People reporter Sue Carswell in 1991.

Short Fingers are the Ultimate Aphrodisiac

I think that he’s got a whole open field really. A lot of the people that you write about, and you people do a great job, by the way, but a lot of the people that you write about really are — I mean, they call. They just call. Actresses, people that you write about just call to see if they can go out with him and things.

I’ll Have What Mick’s Having

What she was having a very big thing with Mick Jagger. And then what happened, she was going with Eric Clapton, and Eric Clapton introduced her to Mick Jagger, and then Mick Jagger started calling her, and she ended up going with Mick Jagger. And then she dropped Mick Jagger for Donald, and that’s where it is right now.

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Revenge of the Boomers

Why won't you stay dead?

Eight years ago — eight years ago! — we made a Bold Proclamation about a generational shift in American politics:

This fall, we’re taking over the country. The torch has been passed to a new generation, and this time it’s personal. It’s the Barry & Sarah Show, hosted by Jon Stewart, fortysomethings all. Joe and John will have walk-on parts, but they’re both irrelevant to the story. It’s our world now, and you kids will just have to deal with it.

And eight years later, we’re faced with a choice between Hillary Clinton (b.1947) and Donald Trump (b.1946).

What the hell happened?

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The Choad Ahead

Trump voters await their harvest.

And here we are.

We weren’t supposed to be here — we were punditsplained for months how this was not merely unlikely, but totally impossible — but anybody paying attention could see it happening, almost from the start.

Really: Calling John McCain a loser because he was a POW? And getting away with it? Put away your statistical analysis, nerds. We’re in uncharted territory here.

And yet, since Donald Trump won Indiana Tuesday night, we’ve been treated to a barrage of new assurances that It Can’t Happen Here. And you’ll forgive us if we’re in no hurry to pop the champagne.

We’re in no hurry anyway because we’re facing a classic Least Worst choice this November, but hey, that’s The American System.

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You’re Not Listening

Back in the Old Country — well, okay, Oregon — occasionally we would need to skip town now and then, and leave our cats with our parents. Our mom once marveled at how talkative they were, which struck us as an odd thing to say, because of course they were talkative. We talked to our cats all the time. And they talked back.

It’s really not hard to understand cats. “I’m hungry” and “I want outside” and “I’m fucking pissed” pretty much runs the conversation. (With dogs, it’s all “Do you love me?”) Talk to them like a grownup — “That tabletop is my turf!” — they’ll get the message.

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Other Omens of the Apocalypse

Everybody loves a Western.

  • Malcolm X on the Ten
  • Wall Street CEO perp walks
  • Smash hiphop musical about Grover Cleveland

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