The first presidential "debate" airs in three days and a wakeup. For some reason it reminds me of a passage in one of W.E.B. Griffin's "The Corps" novels.
A sergeant is herding a batch of Marine recruits from a New York rail station to Parris Island. He explains that they are not to screw around lest he have their asses. That's necessary, but this noncom is one of the petty tyrants who enjoys it too much. His dignity depends on humiliating others. He ends his harangue with the usual "Any Questions?" A recruit raises his hand.
"Why is your hand up, Asshole?" he demands.
"You asked if there were any questions, Sir," the recruit replies.
"I didn't mean it." He turns and stalks off "quite pleased with himself."
A desire sings in the soul. Would that vast revelation descend on the American electorate. No matter what His Ineptness says, no matter how Dufus Romney retorts, they do not mean it.
There will be no debate on which aspirant is most likely to competently administer the affairs of the federal government. There will be an audition for the role of father, protector, best friend, jovial uncle, seer, Santa Claus, and spiritual leader.
Another line from some old novel or movie sticks with me. An aging starlet walks into a producer's office, lays the audition script on his table, and says: "I want this role and I'll ball anybody I have to to get it." It's a useful concept to keep in mind Wednesday night.