And once again America reaches for the Tylenol after wrenching its collective back recoiling from the wacky ugliness monopolizing the presidential election primary process, but this time, it’s... the Democrats.
Surprise. Surprise. Surprise.
The Mommy Party has strapped on pastel boxing gloves and started to trade blows. The punches aren’t landing and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t hurt much. But it is fun to watch.
We’ve become inured to seeing Republicans tear into each other like crazed cannibalistic piranhas in a crowded aquarium laced with liquid meth, while Democrats hop around like baby rabbits playing tag in a shaded glen. With animated bluebirds whistling happy tunes circling their fluffy bunny heads.
In an effort not to muddy the general election waters too badly for whoever is the eventual nominee, Bernie Sanders and Hillary Clinton have thus far treated each other with the courtesy and respect normally practiced by librarians in schools for children with severe sound sensitivities. You’d be forgiven for thinking they’ve spent the entire campaign in slippers.
Up until now, the most heated argument between the two was who thought the GOP race was more unseemly. Words might possibly have been exchanged over which NPR station played the better mandolin music. It’s an ideological battle between starry-eyed idealists and steely-eyed realists.
Bernie has gone out of his way to avoid conflict, “I’m tired of hearing about your damn emails.” Although some suspect that was because he doesn’t know what they are. To him a pager is dark sorcery. While the most frequent knock on the former First Lady is she needs to lose the “Just give me the nomination and get the hell out of my way” look.
Sanders’ youthful supporters feel the Bern because the Vermont Senator is like Santy Claus without the beard: promising universal health care, free tuition and... ponies. Everybody gets a pony. He even displayed the fire hose with which he plans to soak the rich to pay for it all. And the nozzle is huuuuuuge.
The establishment backs Hillary because she not only knows where all the bodies are buried, but how deep the knife wounds are, who put them there and in which wilderness communities US Marshals have stashed reluctant witnesses.
But now we’re approaching crunch time with the electoral circus moving to New York, and the bunnies are putting on hobnailed boots and growing fangs. The good people of Wisconsin, the Dairy State, give extra credit to candidates who hold hands and play nice. The Empire State, not so much. They demand to know you’re willing to fight for their vote and need to see evidential bruising. “You want souvenirs?” “Yes.”
Thus the brawling begins. The woman who now lives in New York says “I’m not even sure he’s a Democrat” and the man who was born there comes back with “she’s not qualified to be president.” It won’t be long before the two start posting unflattering pictures of each other’s spouses. Then talk about the size of their... hands.
The problem is, going negative holds a larger downside for the former Senator than the current Senator. For one thing, the frontrunner can’t afford to alienate Sanders’ delicate-as-a-snowflake followers, and two, if she isn’t careful, she runs the risk of being charged with elder abuse.
Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comedian and former Pizza Hut assistant manager