What The Hell Was That?

I have a headache this morning.

No, really.  I have a blistering, want-to-jump-off-a-bridge-to-cure-the-pain headache going.

So, I learned many years ago that the best — and most entertaining — way to watch a presidential debate was as a drinking game.  Since I’m not alone in that belief, several friends and I got together last night to, err, “study the issues.”

Five minutes in I knew I was screwed.

**Important Public Service Announcement — when turning a Trump debate into a drinking game, do NOT start with tequila!  That is all.**

The last half-hour is a bit of a blur — thankfully! — but just what the fuck did anyone involved think they were accomplishing?!

Chris Wallace is an anchor I actually kinda like, but he came across as woefully incompetent at exerting any form of control.  He looked like a first-day student-teacher trying to handle a bunch of kindergarteners right after snack time…

Biden looked like, well, Biden.  An older, more tired Biden, actually, but still the same guy we’ve known for a very long time.

Trump was…well…deranged feels pretty darn weak, but I’ll go with that.  I’ll skip calling him a sociopath only because I was too drunk to spell that word last night.

Who came off worst, however, was us.  Us, the freaking voters.  We look like freaking morons for giving ourselves these two as our choices for President.

Dear Freaking God, is this really the best we can do? A sitting President who can’t even condemn white supremacy, for fuck’s sake, and a challenger who flat-out lied about his son getting cash from a foreign government?

I would weep for the next four years, but I’m too busy weeping for right-damned-now. We are so screwed.

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