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How to recover from that terrible presidential debate

How to recover from that terrible presidential debate
How to recover from that terrible presidential debate

Once upon a time, this week’s presidential debate held great promise. There would be no jeering dorm crowd cheering on their favorite elder statesman. A timer would Microphones of overzealous talkers, which sounds like a charming feature that normal people could use when their Hinge dates are talking about fishing. Maybe this would be a political debate for the ages, a new template for civility, a consumer confidence boost for a conflict-weary electorate.

What happened instead was the most confusing and dark exchange of ideas since Statler and Waldorf edited their own version of “Muppets Most Wanted.”

Joe Biden unleashed a frenzy in the Democratic Party by losing his train of thought, appearing confused, refusing to score easy political points, and failing to dunk Trump, a convicted criminal and imminently dunkable human being. Trump spent his precious minutes charismatically spouting nonsense like, “Then they threw mangoes at the pirate ship!” while CNN anchors simply said, “Yes, your answer, President Biden?” Meanwhile, Democratic activists applied for jobs at Ulta Beauty and/or took to hanging “Candidates Wanted” flyers on utility poles like a child who has lost a beloved Maine Coon.

What to do now? What is there to do but stare at the popcorn ceiling and wonder if we are really witnessing the demise of this American experiment? Some experiments have to fail, right? This is just probability and statistics. I dare you to search for “McDonald’s bubblegum flavored broccoli.”

NO, Once againwe must resist the urge to retreat. We must cling to the threads of a functioning government while one candidate tries to avoid prison and the other is led into a room where many gentle hands are placed on his shoulders for a serious talk.

I don’t know about you, but here’s what I do to heal:

Botox, immediately. The whole debate has caused both eyebrows to settle in the middle of my forehead, forming an unpleasant fine line pattern reminiscent of the internet monster known as Slenderman.

Speaking of horror, I’m going to start work on a gothic script about a man with a big, explosive war button who spends every night sundowning. Working title: “Nuclear Toads.”

Explore golf handicaps in relation to mental acuity and executive functions.

Cold lavender compress and frankincense. Enya soundtrack. Sting maybe, but not the sexy tracks (leads to more unnecessary confusion).

Google “Open Convention, how does it work?”

Eye pickles. ASMR videos of cute brunette women simulating eye exams with blue glow sticks. Miniature ice cream cones.

Google “How bad are third party brainworms?”

Have you read all the fact checks? About whether doctors are allowed to rip live babies out of the womb and then murder them???

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Google “therapists near me Aetna.”

In the trash can, approach any hairbrush hairs that are nearby to gauge interest in a candidacy.

For reference, read the news from Florida. Unfortunately, the news from Florida features a failed presidential candidate who is so uncreative and angry at the world that he has completely eliminated arts funding from the state budget. Also, it is hurricane season and storms are literally brewing.

Furrow.

Imagine a world where Ron DeSantis debates Biden. Feel a cold rush of ghostly air rush down your arms. Add a riveting new scene to “Nuclear Toads.”

Remember, healing! Relax your forehead! Drop your shoulders! Smile!

Dysport, Xeomin, Juvederm.

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