Oh, no, this will be good.
Ignoring the incongruity,
of our evening entertain-
ment's having anything to
do with the Presidency of
the United States, and con-
sidering only the perform-
ers arrayed to vindicate
the setting's remorseless
renown, we observe their
embodiment of just about
everything the other re-
viles. Unhappily, for the
one who put his crotch in
play, his taste is outnum-
bered. And it is that mis-
calculation which this e-
vent will anatomize, be-
neath the gauzy chatter,
ostensibly, of policy.
Who is prepared to wait
too long, to hear 50 years
of enduring sexist condes-
cension frame the response
long gathering at its core,
I don't think I caught your
name. For, say what one may
like for history being made,
the setting for settling that
score could not be more per-
fected, than to place these
two in the downmarket capital
of the casino world, to bring
that house crashing down. Who
is prepared to wait to watch,
the johnny-one-note simpleton
mantra of standing strong,
shredded, by a shrug of self-
assurance?
Have we seen a greater cor-
relation in any occasion, be-
tween motive and opportunity,
than the gift of this one i-
deal opponent of gender equal-
indiscipline, inconstancy and
incontinence, to satisfy the
of a soul oblivious to distrac-
tion from that single goal? No
wonder, he stops at nothing to
trivialize that contest, he ex-
pects too painfully to lose.
Finally, the politics of the
occasion no longer elude us.
Finally, events have focused
the issue, and its parts have
been cast. Denial and belief
have never been more readied.
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