So here is how I think this whole thing will play out.
Hillary Clinton and her steel-edged machine will wage a
savage battle for control of the White House, buoyed by wrenching fear amped up
to 11 by democrats, minorities and moderate independents; ultimately prevailing
in a brutally expensive and scorched earth campaign that will leave all 300+
million Americans in desperate need of a shower on Wednesday, November 9th,
2016.
The math of this election will make it a fairly easy
tabulation by the news media to declare HRC the winner, but election night will
drag out for a long time because of how many strong pockets of Trump supporters
exist in every state.
Donald Trump, as only he could, will stand in front of
either his so-named Tower in Manhattan - but more likely at his resort in
Florida – late into that Tuesday evening…and simply not concede. He will give a
rambling and incoherent speech about how great a campaign he ran and just walk
off exit stage left. All will applaud,
some will cry and then everyone will look around quizzically for a few moments
and wonder, “so…is that it? We lost right? He knows that, right?”
And then for the next 24 to 72 hours, all of America and
indeed all of the world will collectively shudder and reach a moment of
singular clarity and gasp: “my God, that actually almost happened!”
I remember one late night many years ago, when a bunch of us
incredibly drunk college kids were racing up Highway 13 near Berkeley, one
group of friends in an open Jeep the other in a pickup. We were side by side
cruising along at 70 or so and for about 45 seconds, I boozily contemplated
jumping from the jeep into the bed of the adjacent truck. For almost one full
minute I considered the trajectory, the necessary push off from legs, the angle
of flight and the wind. Luckily, something in my reptilian brain cut through
the 11 Coors Lights and I remained a jeep passenger.
Next morning, I woke up, rubbed my swollen eyes and stared
out at the floor of my bedroom and shockingly grabbed hold of the realization:
I almost died doing something incredibly stupid.
So too, I think will most of the nation on the second
Wednesday in November. Wake up and realize how close we came to allowing the
presidency of the United States to become an irrelevant office, suitable for
clowns and con men.
Oh I know…we’ve been close before. Bill Clinton’s blow job,
Reagan’s long descent into Alzheimer’s madness, George W. Bush’s mighty
struggle with words and thoughts. Carter’s sweaters and befuddled gaze.
And just like an extremely inebriated me back on that night
long ago, who someone summoned enough rational self-preservation, America will
choose not to jump into the speeding hellfire vehicle with the orange-haired
madman at the wheel. We will pull back from the abyss and try and forget this
campaign, and this very idea ever existed.
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