The chess players had finished a round of quick check-mates, and sat now at the bar in their favored pub in Georgetown. The barkeep had delivered their pints and was attending to other patrons. Above the din of conversation and laughter, the televisions lining the walls were broadcasting deep analysis of recent war, sports, and political news.
“The debate should be interesting,” the democrat stated, “If only to serve as a way for my candidate to smack-down your guy and put him in his place. All on national TV. I’m pumped!”
The republican answered, “It’s more likely that she’ll make a fool of herself and wallow in a word salad my friend. Remember the old standard, ‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them from the get-go’. I still don’t understand how she’s your candidate. Clearly the DNC, like God, works in mysterious ways.”
“She has vision and character” the democrat replied, ” and must be competent to have passed the bar exam to become a lawyer, though I am aware that she failed in her first attempt. Then to hold office as vice-president during our troubled times post covid. It’s as if she’s a Goddess!”
“She’s no Goddess” the republican countered, then lit his cigar and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “She strikes me as being like a mechanical wind-up you’d find in a flea market in Chinatown. And she’s always evasive and sneaky with her language. Americans want straight talk and no nonsense answers to their questions. A true Goddess is like that aloha gal who just teamed up with my guy for debate prep. Let’s hope she’s helping him tame his motor mouth. She’s the one who should be president.”
The democrat squinted and espoused, “My gal’s vision of equality and justice makes more sense than your candidate’s tough-guy threats and meanderings. It’s a choice between empathy and compassion, and die-hard ultra nationalism. She’s going to mop the floor with him at the debate, and then end his political career in the election. It’s just a feeling I have.”
“Feelings are like translucent moths in the night fixated on hot halogen bulbs,” the republican replied, annoyed by the very thought of feelings having anything at all to do with American politics. “They see the light and feel the heat and are lured to their doom. Were they to more carefully ponder the matter at hand, they would seek shelter and rest upon the limbs of a stout and strong live oak instead. My candidate has deeper roots than yours could ever hope to have. His accomplishments in life are tangible- beautiful buildings, world-class golf resorts, award-winning TV shows. I’m sure his wives recognise his great attributes. Whereas your candidate is known for giggles and subtle subterfuge in her language skills.”
The democrat responded, “None of that matters to the poor woman who needs an abortion and can’t get one because the Supreme Court took away her rights. It’s all about freedom my friend. Your guy has already promised to be a dictator on day one. WTF! He should be in prison trying to write his memoirs right now. Instead, he’s twisting the minds of the deplorables everywhere across this country.”
“Picture this my friend,” the republican uttered between sips of stout, “My guy walks onto the debate stage wearing white linen sports coat and trousers. No tie. He’s wearing a fedora with a snakeskin band. His turquoise silk shirt is suggestively unbuttoned just enough to display on his chest a gold chain with serpent pendant. In his mouth is an unlit cigar. Then, your candidate steps forward, her nuclear smile disrupting the white balance settings of the video cameras, revealing her colorful peasant skirt and simple, yet sheer, blouse, which is unbuttoned just enough to reveal certain attributes associated with her gender. In her mouth is a lollipop. She might win if she’s savvy enough to show a little skin to the male and lesbian voters. It’s all about manipulation in American politics.”
“I confess that I’ve had certain lurid thoughts about her,” the democrat lamented, “but that’s neither here nor there when it comes to the messy business of leading our country forward in these troubling times. She admittedly has greater curb-appeal than HRC. I grudgingly voted for HRC, but now I’m all in. I just have a feeling that she’ll eviscerate your guy for good.”
“Dream on my friend. Alot can happen in the next few weeks.”
CP Butchvarov 2024