September 26, 2106, 8 P.M. Dressed in flaming red, the
matador faces the bull(y). The result: Olé!
If you're for Trump, something's the matter with you, if you're
still undecided, what's the matter with you?, and if you're for Hillary,
nothing's the matter with you and, like me, if you follow the news, you are most likely fatigued.
Someone who has stiffed workers; someone who doesn't read books;
someone who is already an international pariah and hopes to be a national one as
well; someone who has no policies, no plans; someone who makes Narcissus look like Mahatma
Gandhi; someone who doesn’t merely dip his toes in bigotry, racism, and misogyny
but thrashes about in sordid muck for all to see; someone who has been flagrantly
dishonest in business; someone who thinks it's wise to escape paying taxes,
etc., etc.
(In case something is really the matter with you, let me tell
you: it isn't her.)
Do we need any more evidence--which Trump continues to provide--to
conclude that he is temperamentally, intellectually and morally unfit to be
president of the United States? Isn't it enough to recall that for years
he was the birther movement's garbage truck, delivering refuse to susceptible minds like a mad
de-sanitation engineer?
At the beginning of the debate, he tried his best to come across
as a normal child. By the end, his inner raging toddler sniffed and ripped
into the mike. This pathological spoiled child just can't take any
criticism. Everyone knows--he must know it as well--that his behavior has
been wildly erratic. Instead of promising to improve, he rants that he
not only has a good temperament, but that it is "by far" his best
characteristic. He goes on to accuse the hyperprepared Hillary of being
unstable--he even claims that she--who amazed us all by remaining unflappable
during eleven hours of partisan interrogation before Congress--lacks stamina!!
By this time, Trump looked like a tired old man, while she looked en pleine forme and--what is rare for her in public
appearances--even looked almost comfortable.
While Trump squawked on, pursed-lipped Hillary looked bemused; her
expression was sooo ironic-- (It reminded me of what Mae West said during her
trial for a play she wrote which--it is now hard to believe--many thought obscene. Judge: Miss West, are you trying to show contempt to this court?
West, in that sultry voice of hers, replied: No, judge, I'm doing my very best to hide it.)
Cicero, once you replace Cataline with Trump, sums up the mess
we're in better than any op-ed columnist ever has: Quo usque tandem abutere,
Trumpe, patientia nostra? Quam diu etiam furor iste tuus eludet? Quem ad finem sese effrenata iacabit audacia?...O
tempora! O mores! (Translation:
Tell me, Trump, how long shall you abuse our patience? How long shall you mock
us with your madness? When will that unbridled audacity with which you swagger about now, end? O the times! O the morals!)
There are many garden-variety narcissists around. But trying
to transplant a nation-eating weed onto the White House lawn is truly
unprecedented. That there are so many little trumps who would like to see
it watered with patriots' tears is frightening--O tempora, O mores, indeed.
Just about everyone who looks like me is a conservative.
(I'm old and I'm white.) I would like to consider, even if only briefly, voting for a conservative at least one time in my life. Well,
it's probably not going to be any time soon--Munchkins, scarecrows, tin men and
cowardly lions, Republican Party, shame on you!
It's not good for democracy when rational people have, in effect,
only one choice. Must we choose between a hawk and a loon? Yes, we
must. The hawk has good eyesight and has a wide perspective. The cartoon
loon has eyes that roll around in the opposite direction from each other--it
should never have been let loose to stray from its gilded cage. If
I had had my choice, both birds would fly away and be replaced by a dove--you
know who I mean.
But the hawk can learn; the hawk can be tamed. The hawk may
well yet prove to be an eagle.
Must we choose between a potentially great American eagle and a
flaky, orange-tufted loon? Yes, we must.
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