Chubby Checker had dancing in mind when he sang “how low can you go” in that 1962 hit “Limbo rock“.
Maybe someone won this week’s Democratic debate — or rather, screaming match. My feeling is that no one really did, at least nobody on that stage. Give President Trump another win.
It got really low in Charleston. Watching these people go back and forth was painful.
Listening to Elizabeth Warren talk about Michael Bloomberg allegedly telling a pregnant woman to “kill it” was the low point of the night for me. After all, this is the same woman who voted “no“ earlier in the day for the Born-Alive Abortion Survivors Protection Act in the U.S. Senate. And she is talking about someone killing babies?
Watching moderators lose control of the night did not help either.
In the end, it was a waste of time as John F. Harris wrote:
The evening was defined by peevish exchanges, raised voices, feeble attempts at humor, complaints about fairness in being allowed to speak, and extended passages of cross-talk in which moderators utterly lost control of the debate and it was impossible even to understand what was being said. The noise was hardly conducive to a sustained or intelligible argument about whether Sanders is the strongest nominee or the one most representative of the views and temper of the party.The evening offered limited opportunities — were these possibly enough? — for six Democrats not named Sanders to revive their candidacies with last-stand moments to emerge as the main alternative to the self-described democratic socialist for the balance of the nomination contest.
Yes — a bad night all around.
So what’s next in this clown show? We will know more the morning after Super Tuesday but we can say this about the state of the Democrats:
1) This is a miserably unhappy group of people; and,
2) They are going to bring all of that misery and unhappiness to Milwaukee or their convention.
Bad night. I would have been better off watching a Chubby Checker video.
PS: You can listen to my show (Canto Talk) and follow me on Twitter.
