Herd culling victim

The herd was culled in dramatic fashion just before today’s lottery style delegate award process. Zombie candidates dropped like flies. Several flew themselves to Texas to swear their fealty and submit their job applications to the hopeful moderate candidate of best standing. Some pundits called it another standard mess of cuttin’, smashin’, slashin’, cashin’ and tappin’ out. The undead beneficiary of all these zombie drops was delighted that no folks were hurt in this normal political pitty-pat violence, common in such chest puffing and debasing runs to bribe folks for their votes.

For me the more interesting stuff went unreported as to the behind the scenes machinations that led to this mass zombie drop out. This mess normally would have turned up on page three in the papers — the Cain and Abel and offer that can’t be refused stories of the week. Three campaigns were “dead and buried” in less than a quarter of a single news cycle.

Three less folks on future debate stages raising their hands and interrupting each other — none of their stated reasons, nothing they would or could have said, or did, would have mattered to those of us with larger and simpler hearts and souls — we folks less split by the madness of daily false outrages that befoul America.

Their reasons for their deaths got little formulaic media attention. We know that the reporters’ notebooks were full of the real juicy details but that their editors and producers told them to close their books and never to speak or write about them.

I was hoping for a Hindenburg moment but got a pitiful outgassing of small birthday balloon flops and drops. Dammit — I was looking forward to charges of various Light Brigades and spaghetti western bad guy splatterings but got something more akin to off key “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” denouements.

Don’t start showing off all your charms in somebody else’s arms
You must be true to me
I’m so afraid that the plans we made underneath those moonlit skies
Will fade away and you’re bound to stray if the stars get in your eyes
So, don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me

Copyright © 2020 From My Isle Seat