Cancel The Debates, The Choice Is Clear; Clinton Vs Trump Is A Bucket Of Prune Juice Vs A Bucket Of Shit
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If, for some mysterious reason, The Cheesecake Factory were to all of a sudden add a two gallon bucket of shit to their menu, it would (probably) get quite a bit of news coverage and (definitely) cause quite a bit of confusion.
“Why would they do this?” people would ask. “What benefit could that possibly bring to their business?” those same people would ask. “Wouldn’t that be, like, a health risk or something?” they’d ask again, after a couple of drinks. “And what kind of shit would it even be? And how will they collect it?” they’d ask in the Uber on the way home at the end of the night, not even really wanting to know the answers to those questions.
But, there would also be people who’d be intrigued by The Cheesecake Factory’s decision. Who’d wonder if there were some sort of hidden health benefit to two gallon buckets of shit. “Maybe it’s the new Thai food. Or maybe even the new gluten free.” they’d say, as they’d ponder going to a restaurant and shaping their mouths to ask the server to bring them a bucket of shit for them to eat. “I mean, if The Cheesecake Factory is putting it on their menu — willingly to risk their health code rating and bankrupt their company just to add this item — maybe it can’t be all that bad.”
So people would continue to go to The Cheesecake Factory. And most would choose from the old menu selections and attempt to ignore the smell of the shit brewing in the back. But you’d have that small and curious and stupid percentage of people who’d come specifically just for the shit. And they’d order it. And it would come. And then they’d make the final decision about whether they actually want to forever be known as a person who came to a restaurant, ordered a bucket of shit, ate it, paid for it, left a tip, and left.
What would definitely not happen is indecision. No one would come in there thinking about buckets of shit and then say “Nah. I think I’m gonna get the Chargrilled Coulotte Steak instead.” And no one would be deciding between ordering the Sweet Corn Tamale Cakes, the Spicy Ahi Tempura Roll, and the Two Bucket Gallon Of Medium Rare Horse Shit.
I’m writing this a half hour or so after watching Hillary Clinton debate Donald Trump. It was spirited, absurd, ridiculous, hilarious, frightening, and entertaining. It was also pointless. At least, pointless in terms of what function a debate in September is supposed to serve. Which is a way for the candidates to sway undecided voters. And I can not imagine someone of clear mind and sound body still somehow being unsure about who they’re voting for. I can understand the ambivalence about whether to cast a vote at all. Or about whether to vote for Johnson or Stein. (Which is ultimately the same as not voting at all.)
But a decision between Trump and Clinton is a decision between “Hey, I think I’m going to yoga class this morning. And then maybe Trader Joe’s.” and “Hey. I think I’m going to go clone a herd of reindeer and use its meat for this meat puppet reenactment of the Kennedy assassination I’m building in my basement.” Those thoughts do not — well, should not — exist in the same mind.
These debates will continue to happen, of course. And they will matter less and less. Because if you’re even remotely considering ordering and drinking (Or eating? I don’t know how shit consumption works) a two gallon bucket of shit, there’s nothing left to be said to you.