November 8 2016 will be an interesting day, if only in that ‘may you live in interesting times’ faux-Chinese-curse sort of way. In the frenetic closing-stages of the US electoral cycle, I enjoyed the circus that were the National Conventions, but two things really resonated with me. The first was the open-carry rules at the Republican convention. To foreign eyes, it seems quixotic that people are permitted to openly carry a semi-automatic rifle but not lumber. Or an umbrella with a metal tip. Or a cestus, for god’s sake — a cestus? — it’s a lucky thing The Donald forgot to tweet my invitation, because I go nowhere without my cestuses! Joking of course — I leave my spiky-gloves-of-death at home all the time, along with my badass boiled-leather cuirass and pointy glaive. The only one who gets to see those is my wife; and only if she’s been naughty.
My second episode of perturbation was more ephemeral. Was it just me, or was the RNC just a spiteful torrent of bile? One party chose the high road, the other wallowed in the trough, calling names and throwing mud, hoping some would stick. This morning, Trump told Ohio “the election’s gonna be rigged” which, for a man with his money is possible I guess, but — oh, I see, he meant it would be rigged against him? Not by him? Ah, gotcha. Well maybe his mates in Moscow can put the kibosh on any pernicious attempts by the Democrats to deny The Donald. After the Putinator has finished hacking Hilary’s ‘puter, he can get cracking on inventing a sordid past for her as a pole-dancing stripper from Alabama or something.
But in fairness I think that sort of skulduggery is beneath the Grey Cardinal. Also, Vladimir is probably sulking in the Kremlin right now, throwing hunting knives at a life-sized portrait of Angela Merkel, after The Donald forbade him invading Ukraine (except for that little bit at the end they already invaded, they can keep that). “Cry me a river, Vladimir!” poo-poohs The Donald. But it’s not all out of spite; much of it is the frustration of an old man with a much younger wife. The Slovenian siren, Melania Trump, has probably forbidden the Donald any incursions whatsoever, not even a little bit in the end. Looks like things are not so rosy-dory, folks. You can tell by the look on The Donald’s face –he’s dying to get into the oval orifice — but Melania has all the facial expressions of a cat; to know what she’s thinking, you’d have to read all of Michelle Obama’s speeches, and how fuc*ing tedious would that be? And don’t tell me to get moving, biatch!
If there were more hours in the day, I’d follow the US election more closely, including fucktards like Henry Scanlon, writing at TheFederalist.com, and also here, who posits that the reason ‘why Conservative women are so pretty’ is because: The women of the Right are allowed to believe things that the women of the Left are not. They are allowed to believe there is a difference between women and men, female and male, and that those differences are real, not a false cultural construct imposed by a self-interested, manipulative patriarchy. Unlike Gloria Steinem, they can express their femininity in any way they choose to, without fear of being accused of a calumnization of the sisterhood.
Calumnization? Wow. And a dig at Gloria Steinam too, that troublesome lesbian! But what is this, other than an older guy’s whine that the women he covets through his camera lens have slipped beyond his grasp? Relevance? Let me tie this in a pretty bow for y’all: Conservatives are shallow, greedy, self-interested folk. Donald Trump doesn’t want to be POTUS, he wants his beautiful young wife to be married to POTUS. Why would Melania Trump want to slum it at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, when she can rest her weary Louboutin’s at Trump Towers? Why? Power — the ultimate aphrodisiac. If The Donald somehow mauls his way into the big chair, then he can probably throw away the little blue pills. The White House is bling on a scale so gaudy that even Trump’s phallic shrine to himself in NYC will pale by comparison. Or is somebody just compensating?
Steady on now, Ms President! It’s not in the bag just yet! All you imaginary readers of mine might well disagree, but I’d rather have somebody qualified for the job than a guy just looking to impress his trophy-wife. But, of course, not being a US citizen, I’ll have to leave it to you good people to make the right decision. For me, I’d boil down a thousand Ivanka/Marla/Melania clones if it would make just one more Nancy Pelosi. The United States of America needs something more than a trash-talking bobble-head with a plastic wife to make it great again.