therelevantrhino

So, apparently the Dems strategy for conquest this year is a lot like someone trying to convince their girlfriend to make a homemade porno. Start out nice and slow, cue some soothing music, deliver your argument for the sex tape in a pragmatic, dispassionate manner, and hope for the best. All the while knowing that the only thing that matters is the money shot at the end. Sure, there were a couple of, for lack of a better word, highlights, and there should have been. But not for the reasons that the DNC wanted. Follow me…let’s take a walk.

I’d like to take a second to talk about the musical selections from the house band. I know it’s supposed to be thematic, which is why I was so bummed that they didn’t break into a cover of “Lowrider” for the Latino delegation instead of opting for “Oye Como Va”. You could tell the band was feeling it when they busted into “Dance to the Music”, but the aging hipsters in the crowd went on to prove that us white folks just shouldn’t shake it when the cameras are rolling.

It’s a contractual obligation to have someone with the names Jesse and Jackson speak at a Democratic National Convention, but do to some very specific threats leveed by the senior, JJ Jr. was tapped. And he actually did a good job. He only invoked Dr. King 15 or so times, which is much, much less than his papa would have. And he delivered a clear, and surprisingly concise sermon for why America should support ObamaChrist. Of course Dr. King would be closer to seeing the mountain top, Jesse, the convention is being held in Denver. But this is America, so the simpler the metaphor, the better.

Thanks to Botox, Nancy Pelosi only has two expressions. The one we see the most is the look of shock akin to walking in on your spouse biblically congregating with livestock. The other one looks like she’s trying to pass a Mini Cooper through her small intestine (it usually shows up every time she says ‘John McCain’). In an America where the President has a 28% approval rating, it seems like a perfectly sound choice to have the Speaker of the House deliver an address at the opposing party’s convention. Unless, of course, that speaker is Nancy Pelosi, and the House has a 14% approval rating. Oops. I understand that it’s hard to get things done in congress when George W. Bush is closer to his veto pen than his wife and children, and that when the country is once again ruled by a single party there will be gay abortions for all, but most of America doesn’t. And that makes any speech from Pelosi about as relevant as an asshole on a kneecap.

Early on in the evening, we heard from Illinois State Comptroller Dan Hynes. No? I did. He’s the guy that lost to Barak Obama for the Senate bid four years ago. He was gracious in his defeat, and is most likely looking forward to an Obama Presidency because he’ll have a better chance of getting that job once LoaferJesus is president. He did an amazing job last night, and my imaginary hat goes off to him.

Michelle Obama will be picked apart like a baby calf chained to the ground in starving wolf country, so I’ll let my biased, bitter, confused, and uninformed friends on the right handle that one. To my friends on the left, could you maybe let Mama Obama in on a little secret for me? Just sidle on up to her, and say, “Michelle, Laura Bush’s haircut doesn’t suit you. You’d be better off playing to the stereotype that FOX News has established for you, and rock that Pam Grier circa 1974 afro we all want to see.” Please. For me.

I’m truly looking forward to tonight, and the following nights of this convention. This is when the porno really gets hot. We’ll see the Dems in full attack mode, which I hope includes Joe Biden coming out to the podium dressed like the Scorpion King, foaming at the mouth and telling America that the illegitimate black child John McCain fathered belonged to Sally Hemmings. This is the only chance the party has as a whole to point out the glaringly obvious connections between Gran’pa Munster and President Numbnuts. And for their sake, I hope that it happens. I’m looking foward to four years of a different kind of misery, not the same.

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