After the convention, the party got a little out of hand. Like, a lot out of hand.
Like, the next morning the newly selected candidate for President woke up naked, drenched in blood, next to a dead prostitute out of hand.
Like, a dead male prostitute out of hand.
Still, great party.
Anyway, he refused to step down as candidate, claiming the American people had chosen him because he was the only man who could lead the country out of crisis, and even when his bloodwork came back positive for meth he was convinced that he’d prevail in the general election.
The media coverage was a circus by the end of the first week, and as the election season wore on it only became worse and worse for him.
At first, he did what he could to combat the constant, intensely negative press he was receiving. He sent surrogates to fight for his reputation on the news and chat programs even as he sent lawyers to fight to keep him out of prison until after the election.
But when he was caught on tape saying “After I’m elected, I can just pardon myself. The President IS the law.” The surrogates willing to go on record as still supporting him kind of dried up.
And when it became known that he was siphoning campaign funds to pay his legal team, the donations dried up too.
By mid-October, people had more or less forgotten that there even were two people running for President. Which is probably bad for democracy.
Still, coming to politics as I did from Princeton’s Sociology department, I couldn’t help loving the spectacle.
There is, after all, a certain percentage of people who will always vote for their party’s candidate, regardless of that candidates identity.
And come November, we’ll finally know exactly what percentage that is.