This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

DING! I think I just heard the timer go off. 350 pounds roasting for ninety minutes in front of a hundred or so million people. Donald Trump melts down like a popsicle on a hot sidewalk. He walked right into it, like a rube from out of town. The opening handshake was pure intimidation and Trump fell for it hook line and sinker. A polite excuse to get into Trump’s personal space before he had a chance to get comfortable on stage.

Harris extended her hand, and the tension was palpable. Trump didn’t want to take it, at first. It might be a trick. She might have had a joy buzzer or something. (That would have been great, if she had.) Wait, we didn’t plan this! It reminded me of Donald Trump hovering over Hillary Clinton at their debate. So why was Donald so thrown off his mark?

The faces made by Donald Trump were truly amazing. “I’m not crazy! I’m sane. Just like all of you!” Trying, trying to keep his emotions under control. And flashing them across his face at about sixty a minute. One thing big shots and Kings are never very good at is listening to criticism. When the boss says I don’t want to hear anymore, that’s that!

And so, Mr. Trump was unprepared for Ms. Harris’s direct assault. They obviously didn’t practice making the boss angry. Trump was on his back foot from the handshake, and it was all downhill from there. The Trump battle plan was to try and appear sane and reasonable. To stay calm and remember the three most important talking points. Immigration, immigration, and immigration. No matter what question was asked Trump’s answer was always the same.

 If he had been there, it never would have happened or it was somebody else’s fault. It was a failing flailing narcissist. And within the first ten minutes Mr. Trump was feeling hot under the collar. He resented having facts hurled at him and being fact checked in real time. You could see it in his eyes, “Ma! They are all picking on me Ma!”

Mr. Trump melts down and began ranting. Answering questions which were never asked and generally talking out his ass. Dodging questions with double talk as the light faded from his eyes replaced by nagging insecurities. This debate was for everything; his entire future lay in the balance. So, swing for the fences Willie Mays! But as it became apparent to everyone in the room Mr. Trump wasn’t hitting it out of the park, the panic began to set in.

Mr. Trump’s tariff plan is just plain childish. The idea of putting a $2,000 tariff on a Toyota and American consumers won’t be paying for it in the end. Much like that wall Mexico was going to pay for. Project 2025? He’s never heard of it and knows nothing about it. Just some guys got together and put some vague ideas down on paper. And if some of those guys are closely affiliated with Mr. Trump that’s just a coincidence.

You know, maybe if you tell even bigger lies at a little faster clip, they will begin to believe you! Mr. Trump was near frantic to regurgitate right wing memes about black people eating pets. Corrected by the moderator Mr. Trump became even more frantic. In my head, I kept hearing this ad for Mr. Clean over and over. Mr. Clean! Mr. Clean! He’s strong on dirt! It was then  I realized Ms. Harris was mopping the floor with Donald.

It will be a real test of faith for the Trump cult. What happens after the Messiah tries to walk on water and nearly drowns? The Trump mask fell last night. Ms. Harris cleverly wasn’t in a hurry to answer. Just smile and let Donald talk. Let him sink himself by himself. There is an old proverb which says, “Don’t push the tired horse, it will fall on its own.” And Mr. Trump did that last night.

But in Mr. Trump’s defense, he is like a tackling dummy. No matter how many times you knock him over he always gets back up. His followers generally don’t care what he says. It’s fan love. They love him like a boy band or a comic book hero. But Mr. Trump needed a ten and scored a one. It would be hard for any media source to claim with a straight face Mr. Trump won the debate or even held his own. The truth is Mr. Trump got his ass kicked last night. And that should be the end of it. It reminded me of George Bush making a campaign pledge of “No new taxes” and then agreeing to new taxes. Earning an express train back to Texas.

Possibly the worst debate performance in all of recorded human history. Mr. Trump was asked about Obama care. Flippity floppity he was only trying to make it better because it was so awful. Ms. Harris answers, “He tried to kill it sixty times!” Asked to explain the details of his own health care plan. Mr. Trump sheepishly answers, “We have concepts.” If after nine years you are still in the concept phase, you have no concepts. A fraud past its sell by date like Trump’s nine-year tax audit.

And Ms. Harris finished him off by making the election a choice between going forward or going back. Painting Donald Trump as a fossil. A grumpy old man off his meds. Unable to hold his own in a debate. But let me leave it to the experts on the debate results.

“IN THE TRUMP-HARRIS DEBATE THERE WAS A CLEAR WINNER BUT DON’T BELIEVE THIS ELECTION IS OVER” – FOX News

The operative word here is believe. Never mind his poor debate performance or his inability to stay on a subject. Believe! Believe! Believe! Have faith and he will walk on water twice next time. This water was defective.

“The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.”
― Marcus Aurelius