Call Me Franky

Let’s be frank. This election season is stressful, not necessarily enjoyable and full of questionable regressive characters.

And I feel bad for all of them. I don’t know what hit me today—maybe it’s all the meat loaf I’ve been eating or the imminent death of my dog, or something even worse, like the economy collapsing, but I am feeling downright compassionate.

I believe Obama, McCain, Biden and Palin are suffering.

Obama seems to be shutting down. He is not all that decisive. He’s smart. But he seems a bit like a depressed smoker, which I think he might be. He’s mildly suffering.

McCain is just a crazy old coot. He reminds me of the skirt chasing guy in the old age home, flying around the halls in his wheelchair, doing erratic things like throwing pureéd orange food at people, for some reason in his failing mind that seems perfectly right to him. He’s a terrier on his last legs. He’s suffering publicly.

S. Palin. I never thought I’d say this, but I feel awful for her. When perfectly neutral Katie Couric asked her again about foreign policy, Sarah Palin just stumbled and stuttered, formed half sentences of gibberish, talked about Russian and Canada in the most silly way, and looked like her feelings were just plain hurt. Everyone is focusing on the facts of her factlessness. I saw a person who was unwisely chosen from a sea of bad candidates and is mercilessly drowning in that choice. She is in pain. She is suffering greatly.

Biden needs a haircut. He is suffering the least.

These are people, people. It does not look like any of them are doing so well. They have to vie for leadership of a country that is going down some sort of drain. Who would want that job?

The person who is not suffering at all? George Bush. Why? Because he’s drinking heavily.