Oh Death, and Grief, and Sorrow, and Murder
Apologies to Steve Martin for that. Here’s a little context:
Sorry, I tried to find the actual video but didn’t have any luck.
Anyway, after a few weeks of moving in the general direction of — but not really that close to — optimism about the election, I ate several large helpings of pessimism pie last week.
It really is not that flavorful.
I didn’t see the debate the way my other conservative friends and colleagues did. The president did “OK-ish” at best to me. I’m not really sure where other conservatives saw him kicking ass. I think he threw Biden too many lifelines with the interruptions. Allowing Biden to speak in short sentences helped keep him from wandering off on one of those mushmouth mind tangents we’ve seen so many of in the last several months. I agree with the sentiment that we should let Trump be Trump, but Trump should let Biden be Biden because that’s ultimately good for Trump.
Still, the president did look sharper than Biden who, by the way, never directly answered a question.
When POTUS announced that the ‘rona had gotten to him and FLOTUS, I was thrown for a loop. First, there were worries about their health.
Second, there was, WHAT THE HELL, 2020.
No one can figuratively catch a breath in a year that’s being plagued by a virus that literally takes breath away.
I think the president has handled everything like a champ since he headed to Walter Reed on Friday night. I’m obviously relieved that he’s out of there and I hope he recovers at a pace that’s so quick it pisses off the cretinous Democrats who keep wishing the worst on him. Still, I have this feeling of foreboding.
On last Friday’s “War for the White House” podcast I came up with a baseball analogy that kept running through my head. The 2020 election keeps throwing Trump curveballs and he is a fastball hitter. Thus far, he’s successfully fouling them off and keeping the bat alive. I hope he gets a hanging curve to knock out of the park on Nov. 3.
Let’s face it, with the way the economy was at the beginning of the year there weren’t many on this side of the aisle who were sweating Trump’s re-election. Then the Chinese Bat Flu showed up to groin-kick freedom.
So now I’m hoping that President Harris-Biden-Pressley will at least let me and my friends drink ourselves to death at whichever gulag they send us to. I’ll even set up an open mic night.
What’s ironic is that my liberal friends think they are the ones who are going to lose their rights if Trump is re-elected. If they hadn’t spent the last four years filling their diapers, they’d have noticed that nothing of the sort is happening to them. But hey, cool story, bro.
As we have learned, this mood of mine could drastically change in another week, usually with the right food and booze pairing.
Tacos and tequila, here I come.
___
Kruiser Twitter
Kruiser Facebook
PJ Media Senior Columnist and Associate Editor Stephen Kruiser is the author of “Don’t Let the Hippies Shower” and “Straight Outta Feelings: Political Zen in the Age of Outrage,” both of which address serious subjects in a humorous way. Monday through Friday he edits PJ Media’s “Morning Briefing.” His columns appear twice a week.
