Wonderful. We've managed to get through another set of political conventions.
Frankly, this is tantamount to celebrating a fleeting victory over jaundice, a temporary flare-up of malaria, or an ongoing resurgence in hemorrhoids.
If I didn't know better -- and I'm not sure that I do, not anymore -- I'd say someone slipped some blotter-paper acid, or mind-warping alien spores, into my preventively-medicated, yeast-enhanced beverage.
Of course, it could also be that the candidates themselves have divvied up the hallucinatory goods, right before each one got off their respective Gravy Trains, for their respective stops at Podiumville.
# # #
Flashback:
February 9th, or June 13, 2015, whenever - The Deal Is Struck
After a round of rock-paper-lunkhead, the two candidates shrugged, and agreed among themselves: Donald flipped back a raft of the brown acid -- yes, the one everyone was warned to stay away from in the 60s -- while Hilary downed a hefty pitcher of way-too-happy, super-smiley-faced Kool-Aid.
Ever since, Donald's people have been pumping the brown acid into his hyper-eager supporters' supplies of air, food, and beverages. Hillary's staff has meanwhile been been trying to overcome the enthralled throng queueing up for Bernie's Blues Brew, begging and pleading for supporters to help themselves to her Kool-Aid, instead, and drink some down -- one, twice, three times for good measure.
And so it has gone, just as agreed and foretold by mystic with Magic-8-Balls: The Amazing Mister Braindamage versus The Serene Little Matchgirl emerge victorious, with Bernie's Brew watered down and slung aside, thrust on the heap of Valid Reasoning and Clear Choice.
Yes! We did it again! Everybody's a winner! We're Number One!
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