The d**k measuring contest in Cleveland is done...true confessions of a journalist in exile.7/22/2016
![]() Good morning everybody…now, stay down and remain behind cover! It was a different mood here in the Cuyahoga Suite in Cleveland last night. Following The Trump’s acceptance speech in which he portrayed the “reality” of America, the delegates began arriving here for a post-speech celebration. This time though, the delegates looked more scared than celebratory. Each sat quietly with a drink in hand…beady, laser-focused eyes scanning the room for some danger yet to emerge. It was impossible to get any of them to talk or make a comment. The fear was palpable. The Trump has hit his mark. After all, to really get people’s attention, it’s always best to scare the livin’ beejeezus out of the peoples. Leadership by intimidation in a Kingdom of Fear…HA! Try fitting that on a campaign sign or something. Eh, you get the idea. And, what the hell do I know? Things are pretty dark, all in all, across the world. It just seemed a little heavy handed to shove it in the face of everyone watching at home. This after a series of gaffs and over-the-top surreal weirdness in Cleveland. Let’s see: there were two separate charges of plagiarism; hurled insults at a cleric trying to perform an opening prayer; Republican elites refusing to endorse The Trump on stage; The Trump hisself making an entrance on stage very reminiscent of wrestling’s The Undertaker…surreal…weirdness! And, then, last night following the speech, while the family gathered on stage to thunderous applause, strains of the Stones’ song, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” Who the hell was that directed at? The GOP elite…a soft swipe at them perhaps? Weird, I’m telling you. On a level not seen before. The virginal vegan Brooklyn Hodensack, our handler from Southern Living magazine, came out from her private bedroom here in the suite. She was wearing a flak jacket and had a firearm on her hip. Mostly, I think she was checking to ensure I was writing. “Write more, write faster, not smarter. Quantity over quality,” was her advice. Always great to have a coach. She also informed me that her editor has authorized her to move us to Philadelphia ahead of next week’s Democratic National Convention. Great, another several days of nonsense until the Queen of the Unindicted is anointed her party’s choice. Eh well, they’re paying me so what do I care? I guess we’ll see how long it takes for me to lose my press credentials in Philly. They didn’t last 24 hours here in Cleveland. Having delivered her news, the virginal vegan Hodensack disappeared back into her private bedroom here in the suite. But, not before admonishing me to finish at least 5,000 words before I sleep. I had hoped to be able to head back to The Compound before Philadelphia, but I guess it makes more sense to just keep moving east. I haven’t seen Cousin Fred. He and Gigi are holed up somewhere. The Trump’s hair looked pretty good last night, so I’m guessing she came out of seclusion long enough to smear some more gel onto whatever manner of carcass that is and point him in the direction of the stage. Eh, well…there will be time to gather Cousin Fred and our meager belongings and head off to Philly. I’m not leaving town though, until I can at least run through the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Philadelphia, here we come! Comments are closed.
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