Over the last couple of days, I’ve found myself thinking about Jim Mc Donald. Mac was a gym teacher and a coach at El Dorado High School.
Mac was also a man of practical wisdom, and he had the solution to any problem between hot-headed boys when their disputes got too heated and feisty—boxing gloves.
After a few punches were exchanged, and arms were quickly wearied, the arguments were ended. None of these matches lasted very long, and I can’t remember anyone getting hurt too badly.
If I could find those gloves, I’d encourage Trump and Cruz to get them on and to get after it. After a couple rounds of physically pummeling each other, maybe they’d be willing to start debating policy and quit demeaning partners.
I’m sick of hearing Ted whine about Donald’s comments about Heidi, and I’m equally tired of hearing Donald whimper because Ted has slighted Melani. Instead of discussing the weighty issues, Ted and Donald are being characterized by a pettiness that’s ridiculous.
Their nauseating narcissism and infantile behavior is casting a dark shadow on the hopes of the Republican Party, and its effort to elect the next president.
As an old sage once said: “Politicians and diapers have one thing in common, they both need to be changed regularly—and for the same reason!” The foul behavior of these men have left a rank odor in the air, and I think it’s time they make a change.
There’s no failsafe vaccine for it, and everyone who has ever lived has felt the crushing power of the vice-like grip of Big Daddy Bad Day. The physical symptoms are nothing like the chills, sweats, and fever that typify malaria, nor the feigned symptoms of malingering. When Big Daddy slaps you down, you feel a nauseating surge of melancholy with its brooding sadness and boiling madness.
insightbyseymour 