Welcome back, TV Recap! readers extraordinaire! I am so pleased that you’re here to (a) try to remember something you just watched last night or (b) read a synopsis of something you could still easily watch right now. Internet! It’s for all kinds of people.
When I last left you, I had stumbled over a cartoon purporting to be the Democratic field for President. It was an entertaining program, but I strongly dislike how cartoons make me feel about my body image. So, after that show, I began working on myself. I lost 325 pounds, but then realized I had put those pounds in my second freezer. I got excited and cooked up an amazing double-bacon chicken-and-ground-turkey hamburger topped by actual hamburger. In the interim between the lost meat and my gut stroke, I lost around 40 pounds—it all melted away from my cankles—but was then horrified at the look of my shins, which had the texture of toasted parchment paper. So I soon gained most of it back. All in all, I’m about 2 pounds lighter now! Oddly enough, I am not actually overweight. I just have big blood.
But enough with the preliminaries! Last night, we all tuned in to watch the greatest political event of our time: the debate between Vladimir Putin’s surgically altered and hair-plugged clone of Benito Mussolini, Donald B. Trump, and Richard Nixon’s sister and distant relative (=identical twin) of Richard Nixon, Hillary Wile E. Clinton. Pardon me if I didn’t get their names right—I was bewildered by the fact that Captain Holt from “Brooklyn 99” was moderating the debate. Cross-branding, I guess.
Their first meeting was a traditional-format debate focused on a range of economic and security issues. Trump wore a blue tie manufactured by slaves in Bangladesh (a “powerless tie”) while Hillary was smartly done up in blood-besmirched painter’s overalls. Both were smart choices, but few people know that everything you see on TV is carefully negotiated beforehand. For example, Trump’s campaign vetoed Clinton’s proposal to have him wear a “KKK! Heritage, Not Hate” pin, while Clinton’s team refused to literally hold herself crooked during the entire debate. However, Hillary was allowed to stand on a stack of emails so that she wouldn’t appear too transparent.
(Meanwhile, Trump just stood on the Constitution.)
The debate started with a delightful five minutes of talking-head banter explaining that there was going to be a debate. A solitary magical elf living in a tree stump in the U.P. found this very helpful.
After this, Lester Holt welcomed the nation into his large, well-lit, very blue living room and introduced the candidates. In a moment of high tension, Clinton strode across the stage and shook hands with Trump. I was concerned because recent reporting had suggested that Clinton was dead and that Trump’s doll hands simply came off when you shook them.
That part over, the debate commenced with a civil tone and gracious—whoa, that was over quick.
There were a lot of disputes about basic facts during this debate. Fortunately, the candidates did their utmost to clear up matters. For example, when Lester Holt said that Trump originally supported the Iraq War, Trump launched into a long explanation involving Howard Stern, Sean Hannity, the Wall Street Journal, William F. Buckley, Søren Kierkegaard, Miss Piggy, two bottlecaps, a discarded syringe, and the tar-sprayed gravel rooftop of a condo complex on Staten Island. While I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, it was clear that he thought Iraq was a multivitamin, and was strongly opposed to it because it wasn’t chewable.
Likewise, Clinton was caught in an unfortunate lie when she said that she regretted using email as Secretary of State. I, for one, thinks she likes using email. I don’t believe her protestations one bit.
The argument continued in this vein for many hours. Clinton would rise and speak to the assembled citizens for forty-five or sixty minutes, haranguing them with dark warnings about dangers to American civilization and the blessings of carpeting, then sit, satisfied and spent. Trump then unspooled a long and compelling justification for protective tariffs and a system of internal improvements that would greatly increase commerce on our inland waterways; he also did not fail to mention his long-time loyalty to the Whig cause and his grand admiration and fraternal affection for that great compromiser, Henry Clay, whom, he said, once kindly lit his tallow lamp in the gloom of a bayou in which they had been alligator hunting. Clinton, having none of this, brandished her own whaleskin purse and dared any man to ask her to describe what terrible ordeals she suffered in pursuit of its manufacture. Lester Holt, the ostensible moderator, quickly stepped in to diffuse the tension and ask his second question, having suddenly remembered he was there to ask at least two, and no more than three, questions with the phrase “ISIS taxes on black police birther emails” in it, and then lay back enjoying the outcome over the glowing coal of a cigar butt.
Alas, this was no help to me—I couldn’t make heads nor tails of any of it.
To help straighten out all of the confusion, I decided to resort to one of my tried-and-true tricks: fact-checking. First, I fact-checked the entire debate, and was surprised to learn that it, in fact, happened. Second, I made a list of all the dubious claims being advanced by each candidate and went to HillaryClinton.com to see if they were true. Hat tip to Hillary Clinton for pointing to this public service.
The conclusion is inescapable: Trump is solidly racist.
I began to lose interest toward the end, when the effect of having lost two pounds finally caught up to me. All I recall is the odd scene when Donald D. Trump’s adult children joined him on stage and began flicking Skittles at a bloodied Syrian child in the front row. It was a poor display of class, honestly. I can’t say I’m surprised, however, given their hair styles. While I normally like the “just went under the water and came back up so my hair will be out of my face” look, they seem to have ruined the effect by pairing it with jerkfaces.
Of course, Hillary’s deranged husband, B.J. Clinton, did her no favors either, having caught some of those Skittles with his perpetually slack-jawed maw. On stage after the debate, he seemed to be looking around for some balloons to poke, and narrowly avoided controversy by being steered clear of Melania’s breasts. I don’t think Melania would have minded, however, since she was just borrowing them from Michelle Obama.
Whew! That was a lot! Until next time, dear TV Recap! imbibers! I plan to do a thorough review of “Rick Steve’s Europe,” which would be a great place to move to—and I hear they’re accepting a lot of refugees these days.