Presidential Debates Redux.....

Genteel Reader;

Thank my stars this nightmare is nearly over...

So after last week's debacle with the presidential debates (for those of you who don't know, I'm prone to getting a case of loose stools when something upsets or frightens me,) I nearly decided to sit out the final debates on foreign policy.  But, being a good citizen and a professional writer means that I need to stay abreast of current events, so as I can write about them.  Therefore I watched the debates.

I did undergo a few extra preparations though.  For starters, I scheduled a teeth cleaning so I could stay calm throughout the day.  Nothing like a clean mouth of chompers to soothe the spirit, I always say! (Not to mention the Xanax they give me.)  I also took a few Immodium and spent the day sipping Pepto Bismol to make sure my tummy stayed calm and the nervous diarrhea wouldn't get the better of me, as nervous diarrhea is wont to do.  Instead of sitting in my usual chair wrapped in my usual quilt, I fashioned myself a sort of "debate bunker" out of blankets and pillows.  That way, if I got overwhelmed I could just hide in the bunker.  I also wore earmuffs and a sleeping mask in case I needed to block sight or sound.  Finally, I prepared my usual feast of organic kumkwats and chamomile tea.

Last minute and without good reason, I brought my pistol out from the upstairs closet, an M&P .45 compact.  Sometimes fear, Xanax, and opiate anti-diarrheals make you do crazy things.  I only keep that damn gun around to help the high school kids listen to what I have to say when they drive around my neighborhood with their loud stereos. They get very interested in the gun when I show it to them, I think it's because kids of today like to listen to that gangster rap.  They can't look away, watching the pistol in my hand with the wide-eyed fascination of youth!  They're polite too, when you give them a chance.  The kids always call me "sir" once I bring out the gun. (Kids today also stutter a lot, which I attribute to hormones in milk, and cry a lot too, which I attribute to that whole "emo" thing.) The pistol is a positive tool that really helps foster productive dialogue, but I digress.  

The debates, in my opinion, were fucking outrageous.  I watched in detached horror as two powerful men shouted in an attempt to intimidate one another, but only wound up intimidating me.  What's worse is they were basically shouting about which members of our human family they were going to bomb into oblivion or shoot to death, Iran or Russia?  This set my lower lip quivering (and for some reason made me drool, too. Xanax + Immodium is what I think caused this.)  Instead of engaging humankind with love and loving respect, they were going to just threaten and kill in the name of money, as I suppose powerful men are wont to do.  People, this is not how we wont to shape our foreign policy, is it?  All these pundits talking about "nuking this guy" or "taking out that guy," when the best way to solve our differences is with a genteel chat over a nice cup of chamomile tea and maybe even some crackers?  Nobody even mentioned that as a possibility!  Assholes.

Then, I heard something that pushed me over the edge!  Obama said the word "bayonet."  I won't get into the specifics of why, but the mere mention of bayonets puts me into all kinds of a tizzy. Immediately, I clamped the earmuffs over my ears and lowered the sleeping mask over my eyes.  The sensory depravation caused a really bad flashback where I was clutching a rifle with a bayonet on it whilst yelling vicious capitalist slogans like "KILL KILL KILL WITH THE COLD BLUE STEEL!" and "BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD MAKES THE GREEN GRASS GROW" (actually organic manure fertilizer and plenty of water makes the green grass grow.)  I felt myself curled up in a little ball, rocking back and forth, kind of whimpering a little about all the plastic dummies I was forced to gore by George W. Bush! And these two assholes were taking us down EXACTLY THE SAME PATH! And all of a sudden I felt this red-hot surge of manly anger take me over!

Genteel readers, I am ashamed to admit this.  But at this point I charged my pistol (yes, it was loaded I suppose,) and shot the TV.  Not once, not twice, not thrice.  From what the detectives tell me, I put a full 16 rounds through it.  Which is funny, because I only have 8 round mags. At some point I must have reloaded as I completed my despicable chore.  If it's any consolation, most of my rounds missed (which is actually to be expected when firing at a 46" TV from three feet away.)  The TV did not deserve what I did to it, no excuses.  I blame years of government-sponsored conditioning for what I did.  Folks, it was a fuge - I was literally out of my body at the time. It wasn't me.  I didn't do it.

The rational path is always superior.  Had I wanted to silence the debates,  I could have reached for the remote instead of my pistol and simply turned the TV off, instead of dumping two mags into that motherfucker.  I think what I did though, was accomplish a sort of performance art piece, a kind of moral fable about thinking your way through problems and using your words instead of going straight for your sidearm and dumping mags as barbarians and assholes are wont to do.  In THAT respect, I think what I accomplished was moral and worthy of praise.  Perhaps one of you could suggest a forum wherein I could perform this piece publicly?  I can foresee the candidates catching wind of my work and doing a great deal of soul-searching once they discover the impact their words and deeds have had on me.  Hopefully, this will be the fertile organic garden from which world peace is finally wont to grow.

As an aside, no diarrhea! Woot woot! In fact, I haven't had to do a #2 for quite some time now!