The Democrat Convention was at times a comedy of errors, soap opera, and just screaming. It opened on the note that the DNC chairwoman and the committee she chaired had rigged the game against Clinton’s main adversary, Senator Bernie Sanders. Too embarrassing to be seen in public, she was denied her role of opening the convention and later forced to resign, though Hillary engaged her to be a “surrogate” during the campaign. So much for integrity!
This was not the first such reward. Obama appointed Susan Rice to be National Security head honcho after she blatantly lied to the entire nation on five TV networks about that massacre. No one knows yet where Obama was during that blood-bath when four Americans were butchered, but Hillary said in a hearing that she was at home alone. She apparently wanted no 3:00 a.m. phone calls.
The Baltimore mayor was finally chosen to open the convention. She became famous after the Freddie Gray affair a while back when she said protestors should have their space for burning and looting activities. Ironically, all charges (and convictions when she made the charges) by the prosecutor against the six police-persons were dropped during the convention.
The actual activity was kicked off by a trio of rappers. Rap is the latest form of “art” delivered to the world by the black community. It’s called music—at least for entertainment awards—but it’s just a percussive beat with a lot of spoken words and no discernible melody. It glorifies cop-assassinations, rapes of mothers (that mother-f*** thing) and being serviced by or beating the hos (the current term for whores), the activity that brings unfortunate children to life to be sustained by various government agencies, certainly not their fathers, who may or may not be known to their mothers anyway.
Currently, the top rapper is Drake. In his classic called “The Motto,” he raps about the fuckin' man, the bitch, the real nigga and shit. This is his phrase in Motto: “almost drowned in her pussy so I swam to her butt.” Another: “I tongue-kiss her other tongue.” Think of that in terms of legendary black entertainers Nat King Cole, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Johnny Mathis, Sammy Davis, Wynton Marsalis or Quincy Jones. This set the tone for the proceedings. Coarse! The two people who led the pledge to the flag faced the audience, not the flag. Weird.
The conventions mean nothing, of course, since the only reason for their convening is to nominate a candidate already decided by the primaries, whose rules vary from state to state and always favor the super-delegates—head honchos, gofers and party hacks. Poor Bernie had lost before he even announced since Hillary had sewed up the super-delegates. To her great chagrin she was forced to actually campaign (remember that roped-off march) to get the requisite number. The debates on Saturday nights were designed so no one would watch and give Bernie some recognition.
The overriding consideration for her candidacy and the convention has been that she is a WOMAN, ipso facto, automatically qualified, never mind FBI Director Comey's scathing press conference/hearing in which he said unequivocally that she LIED, an appellation that has been applied relentlessly and accurately in other matters. She lied under oath to a Congressional committee but AG Lynch refuses, obviously, to indict her for perjury, the crime for which hubby Bill was impeached, though he attempted to define the word is in the process, becoming the Grammarian-in-Chief.
The convention was strictly themed “women and blacks only.” They seemed to run the show, designed, whether consciously or not, to exclude men (at least white men) as extraneous to governing (if not dangerous), though ISIS was not mentioned, perhaps not least because men come in handy when wars are to be fought or actual police/firemen are needed, not girls.
I listened to a few major speeches in both clambakes. Veep Biden approached hysteria in condemning Trump and felt the need to memorialize his son again, playing on the emotions of the crowd. Incredibly poor taste. Veep-candidate Kaine fell into speaking Spanish a la Jeb Bush and Rubio—strange at a time when most folks think English should be the only language. Cheap gimmick. Michele Obama predictably reminded everyone that slaves built the White House. Trump spoke too long in Cleveland.
Perhaps the cheapest shot at Trump at the DNC circus was delivered by a Muslim whose American GI Muslim son was killed in the Middle East, who (Trump), unlike him (the father), had never made such a sacrifice. The only sacrifice made was by the son, not the father, but in any case had nothing to do with Trump but with Hillary. Muslims do not need to lecture Americans about anything except perhaps Obama about his rape of Libya.
Hillary made her grand entrance wearing a solid white pants-suit with white blouse. Imagine a man doing that—the white-suit thing. Caveat: I didn't listen to her. It's hard to listen to anyone who appears to be a compulsive liar. Anyway, she's about as charismatic as a hibernating bear. Maybe she should try rap.
In the good old days pre-1972, conventions meant something. The candidate was actually chosen then. I can remember that as a child 75 years ago, fortified with a full box of raisins, I was glued to the radio (no TV, a precious blessing) all day and into the evening and about as excited at the various roll-calls as at a football game. There were numerous roll-calls without those silly little speeches until a candidate finally received a majority of votes. Today's convention—a costly ego-driven sham!
And so it goes.