It was almost sad, but you know, it wasn’t! It felt good to see Grandpa wandering around like an arthritic midget, baring his horrible teeth in a mean grimace. He was Danny DeVito to Obama’s Fred Astaire.
Who would you choose to run the country: An angry hissing old bastard who can’t open his mouth without lying, or a gracious, brainy idealist who is comfortable in his own skin?
Unless an October Surprise of monumental import comes to pass, Obama has it in the bag.
Just to cover the main points of the evening:
1. How many “My Friends” can anyone take?? All My Friends actually sent me text messages that began with the words “My Friends!” (I texted in reply, “U Hate Freedom!”)
2. Grandpa’s whistling S’s inspired a Whistling S contest between me and my nephew. I won!
3. No one left me any chicken wings! Fuckers.
Ah, but how gratifying to hear the post-debate blather at CNN. They all admitted that Grandpa was a repellent little shit. Not in those exact words, though.
Did everybody see McCain refuse to shake Obama’s hand? Nice touch, Grandpa! Now, we must turn our attention to Mrs. P, who probably thinks she holds the winning hand.