Over the weekend…with the big Republican convention on the horizon, some of my Least Coast DDS-type natives were just a little restless.
Maybe you’re like me when you’re watching 5-hours of televised golf at a time. Last weekend, between the drives and putts at Royal Troon, being a total couch spectator left me plenty of time for social media engagement. And with the big Republican convention on the horizon, some of my Least Coast DDS-type natives were just a little restless.
So seemingly the only demographic supporting the Republican presidential nominee as he goosesteps into November is old white guys (and some of their misguided spouses.)
And based on the candidate’s ramblings, you’d think you could further narrow it down to white guys who prefer the simplicity of basic white hooded robes as the coolest thing in rural eveningwear.
But even though most of those frustrated aging Caucasian types showing up in the polls are Christian, very few could probably tell you the difference between Christian charity, the Stars and Bars, and a 6-pack.
These white guys complain that no one speaks to them or their concerns; it’s like they’ve been left behind. Just so happens their exasperation has peaked while the U.S. leader is the first Black President (not when the whole country almost went el busto eight years ago.) And what’s next…the first woman Chief Executive? Really?
I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’.
And who better to serve the wounded Anglo male psyche than a guy who was born on third base and thinks he hit a triple. Or a guy who worships himself and hates just about anyone and everything else. Or a guy who has basically attempted hosing everyone with whom he’s ever struck a deal. Maybe PT Barnum really did know a thing or six about what he was talking about?
And it’s one thing if you’re some poor ole rube living in the middle of nowhere. But what if you’ve had eight years of college and you’ve even earned a title…and you’re one of my freakin’ colleagues?
I have to admit, even without one of the four majors comin’ straight outa Scotland, instead of doing stuff like Pokemon Go, I entertain myself at lunch antagonizing some of my wayward, going on way nuts molar jockey brethren.
These white guys are awesome dentists, progressive providers, and hard workers. But I guess we all have our own “unique” qualities. Hey! I know people who actually collect duct tape art and cigar bands. One of my co-workers collects wine corks. Shucks, I bring back stuffed monkeys from every travel destination.
So maybe some of my disillusioned old white guy colleagues are just a little too sensitive…sort of like Johnny Ringo in Tombstone. Could be these delicate souls fantasize on being part of the lucky 1% or perhaps they’re troubled that dentists are seven-times the national average more likely to commit suicide.
And just like when I collect lucky monkeys, maybe collecting buffoon candidates just makes them feel a little better about themselves.
