We've got wars galore, people unemployed, kids deaf and dumb, and what's driving the presidential contest right now? Who has the biggest claim to knowing how it is to struggle. It boils down to who ate more tuna.
I don't care who ate more tuna.
I also don't care where candidates got their money for college unless they robbed somebody on the street.
I could give a crap who had a single mother and who had 'two loving parents' - both are reality and it doesn't make any difference.
That Paul Ryan ran a marathon is possibly the least interesting thing in the universe. That he lied about his time confirms his standing as a big boy wannabe in my book but neither bit of info has any relevance to the election.
I don't care about extramarital affairs, wandering eyes, or other misbehavior. Unless a guy is on cooing terms with a favorite sheep, it's immaterial to me.
Mitt Romney's underwear also goes into the category of irrelevant, immaterial, and inappropriate to ponder. If he wears Mormon undergarments, he seems to hide it pretty well under his white shirt/starched blue jeans I'm so hip look. It fascinates me not at all.
Nor do I care if President Obama is wearing boxers or briefs, whether he has a cross hanging around his neck or a copper bracelet to stave off arthritis. I DON'T CARE.
Now this is going to be terrible but I only marginally care if either of these guys is a good father. I'm not paying the President of the United States to be a good father. I don't care if he has dinner with his children every night. Lyndon Johnson probably didn't spend two minutes a day thinking about his kids because he was too busy twisting arms to get the Civil Rights Act and the War on Poverty passed.
I also, and now I should just put away my blogging pen forever, I also don't care about the candidates' wives. In my opinion, Michelle Obama should be running for office or running for something. The Mom in Chief business doesn't work for me. Isn't that what June Cleaver was? And don't get me started with Ann.
This is all I care about -- what's the plan. WHAT IS THE PLAN? That's it. That's all I want to know.
Tell me what the plan is and convince me you can pull it off. And stop it with the "I was born in a log cabin" business.
It makes me no nevermind how much damn tuna you ate.