Dubya was sort of cool, in a Texas preppie I’ll-give-ya-a-nickname-that-sticks kind of way. At least he was marginally cooler than the earnest Al Gore, and he only marginally won. The Dems found the least cool Senator on their roster, John Kerry, to match up with him in ’04 so they could lose.
Then came 2008. As was proven shortly after that election, America wasn’t really ready for a black President. We were, however, ready for a really cool President and Obama had that going on. From playing with the skins in a basketball game to telling a few jokes at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner, then getting up from the table and coolly killing Bin Laden, to the tan suit, to Amazing Grace, the man could not be out-cooled. McCain never had a chance.
Come to 2016, and the cool pendulum swung as far as it could in the other direction. Both parties decided to go with candidates that were hideously uncool. Fox News had been painting Hillary as a cold, power-hungry bitch who didn’t even know which end of a saxophone to pick up ever since her hubby had been President. Every white guy sitting in a hunting blind in Wisconsin said to himself, “That see-you-next-Tuesday is not gonna be the boss of me,” and their votes managed to push the skeezy real-estate developer from New York over the Electoral College finish line.
January of 2017 was Trump’s chance to go cool, and he proved totally incapable of it. All he had to do was occasionally be noble about something. But he never has. From his inauguration crowd of that year being on the small side, to his discovering that the average age of a bloodied antifa sprawled on the sidewalk was 75, which was a few days ago, the man has never learned to let anything slide. From squawking raw insults at Democrats to intramural mud-wrestling with his fellow Republicans, the Cantaloupe Dope has shown that his one enduring quality is that he can’t take even the tiniest dis in stride.
Which is not cool. But the death knell came the other day, when Pat Robertson told him, speaking of Trump tear-gassing protesters so he could waltz around Lafayette Square with a Bible, “That’s not cool.”
Now, Pat Robertson is definitely not cool. He is the Anti-Cool, which is similar to the Anti-Christ, except instead of leading the forces of Satan, he leads the forces of Zip Up Your Pants, Join Me in Prayer and Give Me Some Money. He has been against every form of fun since his birth in 1892. He can get his sweaty, browned-out undies in a wad over just about anything, but even he noticed that Jesus never had to pepper-spray anybody to get into Jerusalem. When the leader of the Gay Cakes Mean the Apocalypse squad says you’re not cool, that’s a death sentence to your cool. You have fallen into the Well of Uncool so far even Lassie can’t get you out.
“Well, Joe Biden isn’t that cool,” I hear you saying, and that’s true. Uncle Joe has a spotty public record that goes back to the Korean War, and a proven penchant for sniffing anybody's niece’s hair. But here’s a picture of Obama laughing at one of his jokes.
That’s cool enough to beat Trump.