The Donald Trump-hosted Republican debate was supposed to be tonight. Instead, it was cruelly murdered by Donald Trump himself at the tender age of negative one month. I remember the day I expectantly wrote the word "DEBATE" on December 27th on the calendar that hangs above my desk. Those were simpler times, when a man would announce a debate and then go through with that debate, no matter which robotic, health-care-loving former Massachusetts governors fearfully backed out of it. When times were tough, when life became difficult, I would look at December 27th on my calendar—"DEBATE," it would say, aglow with promise, "DEBATE"—and everything would be all right. I had something to look forward to.
But it was not to be. Donald Trump killed this debate before it even had a chance to show the world what it was made of.
Events that I was looking forward to in this debate included: Donald Trump calling Ron Paul a "fruitcake," Newt Gingrich calling himself a "modern day Braveheart," Rick Santorum shooting furious makeout eyes at Ron Paul after Ron Paul likened Rick Santorum's foreign policy to Bill Clinton's, the triumphant return of Michele Bachmann's shining white sailor outfit, and the bitter argument about whose home-schooling curriculum would be the most regressive. (Bachmann would win that argument after announcing "in President Bachmann's home-schooling programs, literacy would be optional for innocent little twelve-year-old girls." All the other candidates would stare, awe-struck, at Bachmann as she humbly polished her own epaulets to celebrate achieving the delicious brand of victory that comes from being the lowest-common-denominator.)
The debate would end with Donald Trump announcing a winner—"hiring" Newt Gingrich, who would be adorned with a sash and tiara as fireworks burst overhead. The audience, already having applauded the brutal stabbing of a 90-year-old woman earlier in the evening for some unknown reason, would burst out spontaneously into an a cappella version of "Dancing Queen" as the credits—directed by Donald Trump, written by Donald Trump, starring Donald Trump, produced by Donald Trump—whizzed by. It would have been beautiful, my friends.
Instead, all I have to look forward to now is the bitter taste of ashes and a lifetime of regret. Thanks a lot, Donald Trump. Thanks for a whole lot of nothing.
