CARTOON: ‘The Republican Debate’

I missed the Republican Debate. These things are so contrived and phony, I can’t bring myself to care about them. There are some good folks participating, but they get no opportunity to really speak and expose their ideas. The “moderators” are so busy doing personal career building with dumb “gotcha” questions that nothing of substance gets covered. Look at Ted Cruz. He long ago memorized the Constitution … while most liberals have never even read it. In fact, most don’t know it exists. Additionally, one of Ted’s tough old former bosses said he was “a good lawyer, but he was all ideas … and not worth [a tinker’s damn] when he needed to do interrogatory responses for some big client.” On hearing that, I naturally liked him immensely. The old boss couldn’t have been more flattering.

But, I didn’t miss all of the debate. I happened to be dining at a favorite eatery while the debate was on in the background. I looked up at the monitor and saw Ted passionately criticizing someone. I assumed he was attacking each of his fellow candidates. He seemed to be going after everybody. I thought it was more self-destructive Republican theatrics … you know, the sort of stuff that ultimately helps Hillary. But something struck me as funny. It didn’t seem like him. Not attacking fellow candidates. He’s smarter than that. And classier. Upon listening closely, I heard him reciting not the other candidates’ foibles, but the idiotic questions previously posed to each candidate by the moronic moderators. Democratic shills. His recall was astonishing. Presidential? I think so.

The next day, I saw an article in The New Yorker (which I read for the cartoons) entitled, “Why Don’t Republicans Deal With Substantive Stuff?” or some sort of drivel along those lines. The painfully obvious answer is, “People like you and the simple-minded moderators don’t let them.” The cartoonists at The New Yorker must feel embarrassed walking around the building where such stupid people also work and where awkward encounters eventually and unavoidably occur. For instance:

Writer: ”Hey, I saw your lawyer cartoon the other day. Very funny, dude.”

This would elicit a polite reciprocal response:

Cartoonist: ”Thanks. I saw your article about the Republicans … uh … yeah … like … far out … whatever … or something, dude.”

Light on substance, right? Like the Republicans. Maybe the cartoonists go around with paper sacks on their heads when they enter or exit The New Yorker offices. These writers are the same guys who see nothing wrong with a Hillary candidacy except the Republicans’ inability to deal with a “powerful woman,” which, of course, is a problem many of us wrestle with daily.

At this point, my personal picks for high office and cabinet appointees are as follows:

You get the idea. Oh, and as Presidential Press Secretary, Donald Trump. It’s perfect for him: he gets to talk a lot, and yelling at the dorks in the White House press pool would be so satisfying for him…he’d really be in his element (I’d watch it every day), and the press geeks would really earn their outrageously fat salaries. After all, presidents don’t get to talk that much.

I know Donald may feel that not being the president doesn’t capitalize fully on his great natural leadership qualities, but President Cruz could occasionally let him lead an American Expeditionary Force in the invasion of some Sandland Islamic Hell Hole to liberate the enslaved and over-dressed women, the multitudinous child brides, jails full of homosexuals slated for being tossed off tall buildings, women scheduled for stoning for talking back to their camel-dung-smelly husbands, etc. It may not be the same as being president, but it would be far more exciting than sitting in the Oval Office, especially since it may take a long time to entirely eliminate the stench of cowardice, polluting the upholstery, which emanated from the prior occupant … whatever his name was.

And for Minister of Propaganda and General Entertainment…maybe it’s a mistake, but here goes: Bob Mankoff, the cartoon editor of The New Yorker.