Good God, the woman drips venom. At any moment as she speaks you expect some kind of exorcism to occur and a blood-dripping, claw-handed, serpent-tongued monster to slither out of her gut and begin screeching a death knell at the lot of us. This bony python with the CEO-slick huckster delivery, who accused Hillary Clinton of being a liar while spewing saccharine balderdash about watching a fetus twitch into death in her tirade to abolish Planned Parenthood, was no more than a vulpine overture to the pitiless money-bags and operatives in the Reagan Library hungry for Trump’s scalp.
This ghastly apparition of a female had to work overtime not to curl up her lip in a contemptuous sneer ala Dick Cheney as the poison cried to ooze out of her. Can one imagine the ambitious male hides having to work for and answer to this cold-blooded bitch in a corporate structure, realizing immediately it was all about revenge against a male race owning the signature advantage to get to the top—a penis. Trump should have gone to sleep kicking himself in the ass for backing down like a pansy to this shrew for breaking down like the gentleman pansy Jeb Bush and having the laugh-out-loud gall to accuse her of being beautiful.
Shame on you Donald, Ivana must be shocked!
Meanwhile, as Fiorina, who IS tough, and scarily so, zinged daggers at the Donald, the male hides on all sides of her tried to act tough, a pathetic charade among 13 guys who’ve probably never been slapped in their faces in a lifetime. Bush, like your most stooped owlish lackluster lecturing professor pedant, forced a little anger at the Donald for insulting his wife, a Mexican, by going after Mexicans and demanded an apology to his wife, which the Donald, back in attack mode, scoffed at. Cruz, with the face of an implacable jackal, in full alarmist war-mongering paranoia, vowed to tear down every accomplishment by Obama his first day in the White House and go after the terrorists. All these tough guys are fearless of Putin, who Fiorina said she would not to confront and would possibly be the only one of this crew Putin might fear of losing his nuggets.
Rubio, a little boy talking big and carrying a twig instead of a stick, was forceful for the pundits, venting the appropriate threats at our enemies while tight-roping the Immigrant debacle. Pencil-necked Walker’s attempt at making a splash with his finger-pointing toughness so reeked of overheated rehearsal that you wanted to send him to drama school. A Brownie point for Christie for imploring in his mannish way to Fiorina (who feels she can get away with it because she’s a woman) to stop interrupting him like she had everybody else. Huckabee had his moment with Jesus while viewers went to the fridge for beer or the cupboard for a stiff one. Only Paul made any sense in his pacifist neutrality and critique of Bush’s wayward wars, and Kasich, a reasonable hick, who did make sense, was overwhelmed by the Cobra. They were mostly ignored.
Only Carson communicated with the velvet glove in soft-spoken terms, the witch doctor, who does not believe in Evolution or climate change, claims homosexuality is a choice, among other idiocies, and, like Clarence Thomas, is that white black man the GOP loves to stuff down the throats of democrats. He came off as a truly mature, humble human being, if a drastically misguided one guaranteed to please the uninformed.
At the end, instead of trampling all over each other in their reverence of Jesus, they were trampling all over each other to be Reagan-like when in truth not one of them even slightly resembles a man with true leadership qualities and are basically a stink in his nostrils. Watching them fawn and gush and beam with pride at their idolatry of and so-called conservative devotion to the great savior, a real Republican of the Nixon Eisenhower era should have wanted to slap their mean-spirited faces.
As for Trump? Same old bilge flood of empty platitudes and promises, sheer mindless nonsense aimed at his clamoring morons, his yawning boring insipid performance drawing new backers in former tantrum-throwing tyrannical troglodite NFL player and coach Mike Ditka, who now works for the ESPN hydra, and pretty-boy quarterback with the New England Patriots, Tom Brady, married to a high fashion model and living in a palatial estate and too arrogant to attend Obama’s White House to celebrate his team’s Super bowl victory with his mostly black teammates.
I’m sure, if Trump’s still in the running come February and the football season is over, he’ll have these two assholes on the stage with him raising their fists in victory.
As for the Cobra? Time will tell. It’s like the monkey going up the flagpole—the higher up she goes, the more you see of her asshole.