I’m trying to find the words to describe how depressing the Democratic debates are without having someone call the police to take me to the hospital for a forced mental evaluation. I’m shocked and baffled by just how miserable I felt while watching the one last night.
Only someone smoking copious amounts of weed or munching horse tranquilizers like M & Ms could have emerged from the debate without feeling a profound sadness for his or her country, and an intense desire to leap from the nearest tall building and end it all.
Who the hell is Steve Bullock? Why is John Delaney still here? I’m not asking this as an existential question, like “Why are we here?” I literally want to know why John Delaney is still here. Who among us, at least those of us with any grip on reality, would willfully listen to this vapid creature? If you hear a friend or loved one speak about volunteering for the Delaney campaign, have him checked into your neighborhood Psyche Ward ASAP.
Here’s something else to ponder. What the fuck is a Hickenlooper? Tim Ryan, the Wonder Bread of political candidates, was also at the debate for some odd reason. No one knows why.
I guess the one plus of having all these useless white men on the stage is that it provides the true stars, Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders, a few options to slam dunk on other than Donald Trump. Next to this merry band of losers, our current president looks like Pericles. (OK, Pericles with Alzheimer’s but Pericles nonetheless.)
Don’t even get me started on Marianne Williamson, who I am convinced is a witch from “True Blood.” Whenever she speaks in her inexplicable 1920’s voice, she’s casting a collective spell on us. Does she believe and promote junk science? Yes. Is she also so incredibly entertaining that I selfishly want her to stick around as long as possible? By all means. The world is often a sad place. Marianne Williamson makes it less sad, in a sad, gloomy, despairing sort of way.
Have I forgotten someone? Oh yeah, I guess I have. That’s how memorable Beto is.
[Editor’s note, Ken Silverstein: There are many who believe that O’Rourke is Latino. In fact, he sprang from Irish loins. His great-great-grandfather Bernard O’Rourke was born in North Leitrim in 1830, emigrated to America and died in a buggy accident in Nebraska in 1896. Now that’s an inspiring personal heritage. I wonder why Beto doesn’t mention it more often? If it hadn’t been trademarked by the National Pork Producers Council decades ago, I’d propose that Beto change his name to “Carnitas” and run under the slogan “The Other White Meat.”]
I haven’t mentioned Amy Klobuchar because all prosecutors are dead to me. Sorry, dead people can’t be president. Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just report them, so don’t blame me Klobuchar supporter.
Seriously, what struck me most about last night’s debate was how utterly hopeless I felt while watching it. I canvassed for Obama in 2008. I’m pro-choice, pro-union, pro-Medicare For All. I’d vote for almost any sentient being against Trump and should be SO EASY to win over. Yet all these middle-of-the-road, milquetoast candidates do nothing for me.
In fairness, at eighteen I was quite idealistic and current-me would be much more skeptical of Obama than I was back then. But I’m not a tough sell. I’ve tried to remain open-minded, but I’m on the same page I was from the start of this campaign: it’s Elizabeth Warren or Bernie Sanders or no one for me. They’re both garbage to sex workers, but they’re the only candidates I believe have a chance to win and who would enact real, substantive change, not Obama’s faux change.
But it’s not going to happen. Why? Because Trump is going to be re-elected. I just don’t see any way around it. Do you know a single person who voted for Trump in 2016 who is not going to vote for him in 2020? I don’t.
Whatever stupid thing he says or does, whatever vile shit he spews, his followers eat it up. They love him.
So let me close with this upbeat assessment: We are fucked. We don’t have a candidate who can inspire hope the way Trump stirs fear and hate. So buckle up, we’ve got five more years of outrage to get high on. I’d prefer weed but it’s better than nothing.