Honest Abe hangs up on the Party of Lincoln

Good Monday morning everyone! Hope you’re well and ready to head off to work!

Our GOP reception here in the suite last night hasn’t quite ended. There are plenty of young ones here, most with names like Chip, Biff, Jeff, Brittany, Tyler, and Hunter. The drinking has pretty much subsided, but there are discussions going on in nearly every corner: “Was LBJ a closet Republican?” or “Why universal healthcare is actually a Maoist plot to keep people healthy so they’ll vote for Democrats.” and, let’s not forget “An online petition to invade Canada just in case Trudeau goes commie.” to name a few.

Around midnight there was a group of seven gathered in a corner with an Ouija Board as they tried to channel Ronald Reagan to ask his advice on dealing with ISIS. I think the board spelled out N-U-K-E.

At 1AM, there was another group that had a 1-900 psychic who claimed to be in contact with Abraham Lincoln on speakerphone. They were asking her to ask Abe what he thought about The Trump as the Republican nominee. Honest Abe hung up.

Our Southern Living minder, Brooklynn Hodensack, is seated on a couch in the middle of the room with her smart phone perched upon her knee. It’s been ringing incessantly and all I’ve heard when she answers is, “Yes, sir. No, sir. I’ll ask, sir. Right away, sir.” After which, she generally disconnects, looks for me and then comes toward me asking, “You’re going to start writing now, aren’t you?”

In due time, Fraulein Hodensack, in due time. At which point, she returns to her seat on the couch, looking more frightened than ever that the phone will ring again.

The Trump never actually showed last night. Though he did come through the hallway outside the suite surrounded by a phalanx of security. I’m pretty sure I caught sight of a few strands of whatever that is on his head as he passed.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention the brunch yesterday in honor of The Curmudgeon was kind of a flop. The candidate himself did not bother to show, though there were probably two dozen of his acolytes who did bother to show.

They were all (male and female) dressed in black suits and sat in chairs not speaking. Weird, it was like being in some oddball atavistic religious cult.

Cousin Fred, hoping to spark some conversation would occasionally ask “So, who’s feeling the Bern?” His cheerleading was met with silence.

After the acolytes were finished eating, they got up from their seats to bus their own plates before returning to their seat and sitting quietly. Every once in a while, one would shout out something like, “Mr. Bernie will pay criminals not to misbehave!” or “Mr. Bernie will use space-based lasers to sterilize Kim Jong-un!” and my personal favorite, “Mr. Bernie will use super delegates to propel him to victory!” Now there’s a quote I can use in a story…thhhhppppt!

So after two hours of dancing with the living dead, we herded the Bernsters out the door.

That was the first time I heard Brooklynn ask me if I was ready to start writing. I grabbed two glasses of mimosas and headed back to bed knowing that the Trumpsters would be way more engaging.

Guess I was wrong about that too.

So far, the Dems have been the most entertaining bunch and only because Clinton the 1st showed up.

We considered having a mixed bag tonight – Republicans and Democrats – all together in one room, but I’m not up for it. I think we’ll save that for Tuesday night as the election results begin to pour in. New Jersey will close first on the east coast I think and then we’ll just keep closing until California is done.

Maybe then I’ll start writing...maybe.

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