I am dreaming about December. Not because of the Christmas holiday. I am not a fan of crowds trampling each other like animals, trying to get the best deal on gadgets. No, I'm dreaming of December for several other reasons, the two main ones being that it will be less than 110 degrees outside, and I can get off the political crack pipe and not torture myself by watching political conventions or watching the news about the elections. Donald Trump will either be president and I can adapt accordingly, or he will lose and go away. I just want it to be over.
The Republican National Convention is indeed crack. You know watching it is bad for you, but you're hooked, albeit only out of morbid curiosity. And I'm not talking about plagiarized speeches. I actually feel sorry for Melania Trump for that snafu but not as sorry for her as I feel because she's married to the Antichrist who will no doubt gold leaf the White House if he wins the presidential election. It's just that each speaker seemed to be more insane than the preceding one, and I couldn't seem to stop watching them. I must have done something in a past life that I'm punishing myself for. By the time this issue of the paper comes out, that whole debacle will all be over and the Democratic National Convention will be well underway, and I'm just hoping for the best.
Having said that, I did not watch Trump's acceptance speech. I just couldn't. I feared it would be too much to bear, and from what I've seen of the news clips and what I've read, my intuition was right. He pissed off pretty much the whole world except for the lemmings who buy into his fear-mongering and isolationism. We are the butt of the joke of the entire planet — except for maybe Russia, where he got good press on his remarks.
And speaking of butts and dreaming of the election being over, we need this 8th Congressional District race to be OVER NOW and never again allow the candidates to buy television commercials during the campaign. If I see those two women drooling and drawling on and on and on about George Flinn one more time, I think I'm going to actually start smoking crack. Nothing personal against Flinn or the women. He's not a bad guy. The women are probably perfectly sweet in real life. But those commercials give me much the same feeling as having shingles and being in the desert and having someone throw me against a giant cactus and pour gasoline on me. I hope I don't know the people at the advertising agency who created those commercials. Who the hell needs a shovel to put a campaign sign in a yard? The really sick thing? I want to see more. I want to see just how bad they can get. I also need to see a shrink.
And other commercials aren't much better. Among my favorites are the ones for David Kustoff, in which the voice over says, "Pro gun, pro life." Isn't that a bit of an oxymoron given everything that's going on around us? And why does this guy — or any of the candidates trying to be the congressional king of West Tennessee — think he can defeat ISIS? Hell, the entire U.S. government, FBI, CIA, and military haven't been able to do that, but he promises that he can?
And then there's Brian Kelsey. Again, nothing personal, but this is the guy who introduced the legislation some time back that would allow business owners to refuse service to gay people. It wasn't until it got national, humiliating press that he backed off that one and went back to Dairy Queen. I'm not kidding. This is a recent post from his Facebook page:
"Tonight I spoke at the Tipton County Reagan Day Dinner, and afterwards I stopped by the Milington [sic] Dairy Queen to speak with voters! #BKatDQ". Now, if that's not the way to wipe out ISIS, I don't know what is. But he really knows how to get great legislation passed. One totally awesome bill he sponsored and helped get signed into law "prohibits state funds from being expended in support of the office for diversity and inclusion at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville; diverts such funding to a program for placing decals of the national motto on local and state law enforcement vehicles." SWEET. Forget diversity, and put decals on cars instead. Maybe I'm taking this out of context, but it just doesn't seem like a rule that would stick.
So come on, December. Or better yet, come on, January 20, 2017. If Hillary Clinton gets sworn in, we (or at least some of us) can breathe a little better. We know the White House won't be gold-leafed. We know there won't be a Rolls Royce or a Bentley parked out front with a doorman. However, if Donald Trump wins the election and indeed is sworn in, we'll never have to worry about crime or terrorism again, because on that day, he "alone" will fix it.