The showdown last Tuesday night – pitting a devotee of democracy who aspires to be our next president against a groupie of autocracy who aspires to be our last-ever president – was more delicious than an ice cream sundae with cherry on top. Thanks to a shrewd performance by Kamala Harris, one that surely exceeded Democratic dreams, Donald Trump was reduced to the most imbecilic parody of himself. He was the neighborhood lunatic who wanders the street in his bathrobe screaming at trees.
Perhaps men are too emotional to be president. If there’s any justice in this world – if a modicum of sanity still reigns in this country – this race should have ended once and for all when Trump was asked why he blocked a tough bill that would’ve put thousands of new agents and officers on the border Instead of answering the question, he lost his mind: “Look at what’s happening to the towns all over the United States..
. A lot of towns don’t want to talk about it because they’re so embarrassed by it. In Springfield (Ohio), they’re eating the dogs! The people that came in.
They’re eating the cats! They’re eating – they’re eating the pets of the people that live there!” The guy is a poet. He is E. E.
Cummings on acid: They’re eating the dogs They’re eating the cats They’re eating They’re eating the pets of the people Given the dearth of evidence for that soliloquy, I have to wonder whether our “undecideds” would really consider putting this demented foo.