That’s it. It’s over. Donald Trump is your new king. He did all the things, except for the bad ones. He didn’t do those, that was probably Joe Biden’s fault, or the mean Fake News media, some bird murdering windmills, or an international cabal of autonomous anti-fascists who think an American monarchy is stupid.
Trump’s speech, as you already know, went on more than 90 low-energy minutes. He did a tight (not tight) 20 on getting shot at and being resurrected as God’s vessel. He talked about Hannibal Lecter having a friend for dinner. He saw some people in the crowd and said “hey.” He bored his audience mercilessly. He called Star Wars (the missile system) “Starship Spaceship.” He talked about immigrants killing our beautiful white women. The Washington Post factchecked the fuck out of it with a whole lot of “This is obviously false.” Van Jones nattered on about how the Trump family’s “overcome so much” to have three generations on the stage, a huge achievement the likes of which no one else has mustered. Somebody should ask Donald Trump the names of his grandchildren. The New York Times helpfully pointed out it’s been a bad week for Joe Biden.
This wraps our convention coverage this week, unless Robyn decides to thrill and delight you with more after we drop her home back in Chicago. (She got a picture with QAnon JFK Jr. last night, and I, Rebecca, have never seen her so happy.)
We hope we’ve made it “fun” for you. We had a pretty good time ourselves, just being together, you dig?
We’ll have an early lid for you in an hour or two with a morning cocktail. Bar’s closed, or bar’s open. Either way.