WITH SNAGGLE-FANGS BARED, DEBDUSA UNLEASHES HER INNER KRAKEN. WHERE’S PERSEUS WHEN WE NEED HIM?
When you stockpile Toni Home Perm solution and use it as often as meth-heads suck on a glass pipe, all those noxious fumes are bound to cloud your judgment and reasoning. In the case of DNC Chair DEBBIE WASSERMAN-SCHULTZ, the damage goes much deeper than a fry job on her poorly coiffed rat’s nest. Debdusa has always been viewed as an evil monster by those on the right. It’s something she’s well aware of and openly relishes. She feeds on their hate like a feral cat set loose at a buffet station of poached Evangelical canary.
Debdusa is also an equal opportunity political beastie with a reputation for going Gorgon on anyone who questions her authority. Just ask DNC Vice Chair Tulsi Gabbard (D-HI), the latest Democrat to draw the ire of this power-mad harpy. Gabbard is a decorated combat veteran and rising star within the party. She’s also two things Wasserman-Schultz is not: respected and well-liked. When Gabbard dared to suggest that the DNC should sponsor more than six Presidential debates, the response from on high was Debdusa at her most petty and petulant: she disinvited the Congresswoman from attending the Las Vegas event.
Unfortunately for Her Majesty, she couldn’t turn Gabbard to stone and silence her. Once word got out, reaction was swift and vociferous: Debdusa had gone too far. Post-debate, the blowback has not died down and key party officials are calling on Wasserman-Schultz to pack up her hair snakes and crawl back to her lair. When one of your only remaining allies is Harry “The Walking Dead” Reid, you better thank your lucky stars that Perseus isn’t real.
TRUMPENSTEIN LIVE TWEETS, GIVING MILANIA A FEW HOURS OF RELIEF WHILE HIS HANDS ARE OTHERWISE OCCUPIED.
On Tuesday night, while Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders and Martin O’Malley were busy showing us what political discourse among thinking adults should look like, DONALD TRUMP was diddling with something other than his flaccid member. Trumpenstein announced he would be live-tweeting during the Democratic debate. Like cheap whores on bended knee, mainstream media dutifully swallowed the news then spit it back out. Trumpenstein promised to be a bigger draw than the Dems and was convinced he would own Castle Trendingtopicus for the night. Things didn’t go quite the way he had hoped or reporters had predicted.
During the course of the debate, Trumpenstein’s name was pretty much left for dead by the five candidates. Democrats have clearly figured out how to sap his power. You could almost hear the silly monster growling with anger: “Raaaar…Me getting weak…No one saying my name…Aaargh…Grrr.”
Post-debate, angry villagers gathered torches and pitchforks but, much to his chagrin, it wasn’t Trumpenstein who drew their ire. Thanks to a horrendously racist tweet from the warped mind of Mike Huckabee (yes, he’s still alive somewhere out there), the biggest mouth in the GOP didn’t draw the hate-buzz he was hoping for. To add insult to injury, Trumpenstein’s own prediction that no one would be interested in a debate without him on stage was…well…dead wrong: a record audience of over 15 million tuned in.
HILLARY WARDS OFF THE COUNT BEFORE HE STAKES HIMSELF WITH A DEBATE ANSWER DEATH BLOW.
No offense to the “biggest little state in the union” but, what the hell were Rhode Islanders thinking when they cast their votes for human Laffy Taffy like LINCOLN CHAFEE? While many were wondering why he was even on the Democratic debate stage, no one could have predicted that “comic relief” and “self-immolation” would be among the reasons. He didn’t just look like Bizarro Big Bird, he acted like him too.
Going into the Vegas event, Count Chafeula already had a rep for being a political shape shifter (something CNN moderator Anderson Cooper gleefully pointed out on Tuesday night). Apparently, this batty dingbat thought a great way to counter critics of his Dem street cred would be to join one of the GOPs anti-Hillary witch hunts. He jumped on the “secret e-mail server” bandwagon and rode it all the way to Sin City. Even after Bernie Sanders’ rousing rebuke of the brouhaha, Count Chafeula wouldn’t withdraw his fangs. He doubled down on his assertion that there was still blood in them thar veins and, when Cooper threw to Hillary for comment, she whipped out a crucifix. Never has a single “NO” packed more power or punch on a debate stage. She didn’t have to drive in a stake because The Count took care of that himself.
When asked to explain his 1999 vote to repeal the Glass-Steagall Act, Count Chafeula wasn’t satisfied with giving the worst possible answer, he had to make it icky too. In short, he did what he did because he had no idea what he was doing. He was new to the Senate and, well, oopsie! Oh yeah, it was also kinda his father’s fault. Why? John Chaffee died in office and his son, The Count, was appointed to serve out his term. It’s bad enough to admit you cast a vote on major legislation that you didn’t bother to read but, pulling the “dead dad” card to rationalize an already horrible rationalization…yikes! That sound you hear: the last nail being pounded into Count Chafeula’s political coffin (and he swung the hammer).
WE NOW KNOW WHICH DEM WAS THAT ANNOYING KID WHO CRIED ANYTIME SOMEONE GOT MORE CANDY THAN HE DID.
As laugh-out-loud ridiculous as Lincoln Chaffee was during Tuesday’s debate, the scary monster on stage was JIM WEBB. Looking like a peevish Mr Potato Head, Dr. Cobwebb was such a stick in the mud, he made Bernie Sanders seem like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. From the get-go, the former Virginia Senator acted like a spider had crawled up his ass and wouldn’t crawl back out.
During rambling opening remarks that concluded with a semi-lucid stumble through the LinkedIn profiles of his large brood (including an oddball shout-out to one kid who’s a massage therapist), Dr. Cobwebb made the first of many introductions to his third wife, Hong Le Webb. While she certainly seems like a lovely woman with a fascinating personal story, I’d much rather hear it from her. In Dr. Cobwebb’s clutches, she’s reduced (repeatedly) to “immigrant who fled Vietnam” complete with awkward cutaway shots to her watching from the audience. She certainly deserved better than being deployed as one of two poorly chosen political crutches used by her hubby during his hobble through the debate.
Thanks to an almost paranoid penchant for kicking off every response with a rant about how much time he wasn’t getting to respond, we ended up finding out more about Dr. Cobwebb’s family, friends and assorted loved ones than we did about his Presidential aspirations. Ordinarily, such babyish bellyaching would be more apropos in a playground sandbox. Unfortunately for Webb, his cavalcade of cranky was the only stuff that didn’t land like a crashing bore. If Frick and Frack are still around for the next debate, Debdusa could at least make herself useful by seating them at a kiddie table, separate from the adults. Clinton, Sanders, O’Malley and voters deserve the consideration.
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