The Democratic National Convention? What crap. Sorry. What I meant to say was -- what a disappointment to anyone with a fucking brain. [I want to make sure this doesn't get posted on AOL Music Talk].
This year's DNC was to politics what sex is with Howard Stern -- not much.
Let's call it the Spectacle without Testicles. Vetted, rehearsed, and as spontaneous as dead body at a funeral. Did the earth move for you? Not likely.
Conventions have always been about flexing power in public. The ultimate in scalawag TV. Who's got it. Who flaunts it. Who wants it. Who's SOL.
Not any more. No wonder the mainstream networks were willing to pull the plug on gavel to gavel coverage. We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you much ado about nothing. I haven't seen so much b.s. floating in space since Apollo Thirteen had an equipment malfunction.
Not for lack of trying. You could tell every effort was made to turn these nattering nabobs into something -- anything. Just look at all those battery-powered hats. WTF? The place was like a gay pride parade in a old people's home.
Hundreds of elderly men and women wearing hats that spin, whistle, and flush the toilet. Nothing like people with questionable bladder control to remind us of our cherished American values and traditions.
The Democratic convention was supposed to be a chance for the party to demonstrate its inclusiveness. Its center of the roadness. Okay, maybe we're just a little left of center. But not too much, just a radio station or two.
Please don't call us liberals or conservatives. Nope, we're Americans, just like you. We have car payments and mortgages, too. Well, John Kerry doesn't. And John Edwards doesn't either. But you get the idea.
We want to embrace everyone. Come on, group hug! But the only people I saw embraced were white guys in suits. And a couple of white women in designer suits.
To their credit, the vett-meisters did let a few people of color entertain the crowds.
That includes Al Sharpton whose wit, wisdom and great impersonation of James Brown on Saturday Night Live whupped the asses off the other candidates during the primaries. Naturally, he went off his "vetted" script a bunch of times to stick it to Dubya -- you go, Al.
How dare Kerry's people "vett" the speeches anyway. This is the Democratic convention. It's supposed to be the one time you can slander anyone in the Republican party with impunity.
And how can you not take shots at George W. Bush? There hasn't been a bigger target since George Wendt bent over to tie his shoes.
And then there is the man who has become the Democratic Party's wet dream. Could anyone represent inclusiveness better than the charismatic Barack Obama, our newly anointed Tiger Woods of politics. Nigerian father. White mother. Everybody's so excited about him -- he's smart, he's African American, and best of all, he didn't screw up his keynote address.
But he might be the most elitist -- Columbia undergrad and Harvard law school are hardly two of our country's leading bastions of sympathy for liberal causes. I'm sorry, center of the roadness.
Mind if I say his name again -- Barack Obama. He's no Estes Kefauver. And for that, everyone is grateful. Once you finally learn his name, you will never forget it.
The PBS station here in Chicago is so enamored with Barack Obama that they have been running his keynote address more often than a baby has diarrhea. I woke up at 2:00 AM, last night, turned on the tube and there's Barack talking about being a skinny kid with a funny name. AGAIN. Okay, Barack, we get it. You're the THE ONE.
Not since Michael the Jordan was in the house has Chicago been so amped for anybody. Talk about starved for local heroes.
Apparently, not everyone is charmed. Congressman Jesse Jackson, Jr, an accomplished politician himself, started pouting about half way through Obama's speech. During an interview the next day he virtually accused Obama of pirating Dr. King's I Have a Dream speech. You mean, like you, Junior?
With Obama, Illinois finally has someone who isn't stinking up the place -- like his former opponent Jack Ryan, who was chased out of town when his divorcedecree was made public. The tall, pretty, rich boy was formerly married to Jeri Ryan, the impossibly voluptuous actress who played 7 of 9 on one of the Star Trek spin offs. It turns out that one of the reasons for the divorce was that Jack likes sex clubs. And Jeri didn't.
Apparently, when Jeri began to cry because she didn't want to have sex in front of lots of people, he told her that crying was not a turn on. Really? Okay, I'll stop.
"Hey," he said, in a lame attempt to defend himself, "We walked in [the club] and we immediately turned around." So, Jack, how did you get in there in the first place? Because you thought all those mattresses on the floor meant it was, what? A restaurant? A bowling Alley? A sperm donor reunion?
But Jack Ryan pales by comparison to another Ryan -- George, the most recent former governor of Illinois. He was nominated [by himself, I'm sure] for a Nobel Peace Prize for commuting the sentences of over one hundred deathrow inmates. This was followed by his recent indictment [finally] in a license for bribes scandal that began before he was governor, when a couple lost all six of their children in a car accident involving an improperly licensed [i.e., he bribed somebody] truck driver.
So, to sum up -- the DNC sucked the air out of every living room in America. AL Sharpton got some laughs. Barack Obama didn't screw up. And John Kerry -- was he there?