How To Recover From That Horrific Presidential Debate
At one time, the recent presidential debate carried promise. There would be no hooting frat house audience gassing up their preferred elder statesman. A timer would cut off the microphones of overzealous speakers, which sounds like a charming feature regular people could use when their Hinge dates talk about fishing. Perhaps this would be a debate for the ages, a new template for civility, a boost of consumer confidence for a conflict-weary electorate.
What happened instead was the most confounding and dour exchange of ideas since Statler and Waldorf cut together their own version of "Muppets Most Wanted."
Joe Biden sent raging panic through the Democratic Party by losing his train of thought, looking confused, declining to collect easy political points and failing to dunk on Trump, a convicted criminal and imminently dunkable human. Trump spent his precious minutes charismatically uttering nonsense along the lines of, "Then they pelted the pirate ship with mangos!" while the CNN moderators were all, "Yes, your response, President Biden?" Meanwhile, Democratic operatives applied for jobs at Ulta Beauty and/or hit the road to hang CANDIDATE WANTED fliers on utility poles in the manner of a child who has lost a cherished Maine coon.
What to do now? What to do besides stare at the popcorn ceiling and wonder if we really are living through the downfall of this American experiment? Some experiments have to fail, right? That's just statistics. Look up "McDonald's bubblegum-flavored broccoli," I dare you.
No, once again, we need to fight the urge to disengage. We must grasp at the threads of a functioning government as one candidate seeks to avoid prison and the other is ushered into a room for a serious talking-to with lots of gentle hands on shoulders.
I don't know about you, but here's what I'm doing to heal:
Botox, immediately. Due to all the debate furrowing, both eyebrows have taken up residence in the center of my forehead, creating a displeasing fine-line pattern resembling the internet monster known as Slenderman.
Speaking of horror, I will begin work on a gothic screenplay about a man with the big, blasty war button who spends every night sundowning. Working title: "Nuclear Toads."
Research golf handicaps as pertaining to mental acuity and executive function.
Lavender cold compress and incense. Enya soundtrack. Sting, maybe, but not the sexy tracks (leads to more unnecessary confusion).
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