A Reimagined Debate

Monday night’s presidential debate is much more entertaining (and less scary) if you reimagine it as a disastrous blind date between Hillary and Donald, set up by the worst match maker ever, America. Lester Holt plays the part of their timid waiter who never knows when to take their order, not wanting to interrupt their banter. We have all either been on a date with a guy like the Donald or we have heard first hand from a friend who just had a date with a guy like the Donald. HRC just had her first date with the Donald…and this is how it went.

Donald arrives squinting as he surveys the restaurant, searching for his date. He waves at anyone who looks at him, assuming they know him and like him. He sees Hillary sitting alone at a table a little left of the center of the room. She’s wearing a red pants suit. Shoot, he wore his blue tie, expecting her to wear her blue pants suit. Hillary puts down the menu she was studying, stands, smiles in an attempt to hide her disgust, and extends a hand, “Donald?”

“Hello Secretary Clinton, may I call you that? Is that correct? I just want you to be very happy tonight. And you will be. All my dates are tremendously happy. They love me. They all say that.” Donald smiles through pursed lips (almost duck-like) as he shakes Hillary’s hand and places his other hand on her shoulder. They both sit and place their napkins on their laps and look over their menus.

Donald tilts his head and purses his lips (almost duck-like) as he scans the menu. Hillary is smiling (almost a frozen-how-did-I-end-up-here-smile) as she puts her menu down, ready to order. Their waiter, Lester Holt, takes this cue and walks over, asking “Good evening Donald and Hillary, I’m Lester and I will be your waiter tonight. Have either of you been to “The Presidential Debate Restaurant before?”

Hillary replies “I once visited your sister restaurant “Democratic Candidate Debate Restaurant” with a very intelligent and qualified date, but until today, I never made it to The Presidential Debate Restaurant. Though I did research this restaurant and am well versed in your menu and how the restaurant operates, I am prepared to order and more than that I am prepared…”

Donald interrupts, “Wrong. Listen to me Lester, or call my friend Sean, he’ll tell you. I told him this date would not be prepared. I was visiting your customers in DC and Detroit. Where was she? I don’t need to have eaten here before to know what to order. And I know what to order. I am tremendous at ordering. I get the best entrees. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you. The best. Just tremendous. I do agree with Hillary on menus. You do have a menu.”

Lester interjects “So are you ready to order or should I come back in two minutes?”

“Hillary might need two minutes. Me? I never need two minutes. China and Mexico, they need two minutes. But I don’t. Ask Sean.” Donald rambled.

“Donald, I said I was prepared to order. I looked at the whole menu and I have my meal planned out. I’d like the house salad and the sirloin steak, with extra sauce on the side. I’d also like a glass of caber—“ Hillary confidently began (almost like she had rehearsed it in a mirror before the date)

“Wrong! That’s all wrong wrong wrong! Lester, I’ll tell you what Hillary will have and what I will have and what everyone in this restaurant will have. Because, did you know I make steaks. Trump steaks. They’re the best. Putin even says so. You can see for yourself. See. Steaks. Trump. *sniff* China can’t touch these steaks. I’ll let anyone have a steak. I’m proud of my steaks. I am. Ask me. That’s how I honestly feel. Truly.” Trump yelled.

“Can I say one more thing?” Trump interrupted himself.

“Umm, sure, but can you make it quick, I have other tables.” Lester sheepishly whispered.

“Of course. Of course. Did you know that Hillary wrote emails to me before this date. So many emails. You wouldn’t believe the number of emails. They were all drafts though. She didn’t send me one. And if she releases these draft emails to me. Which you should know are all flirtatious emails. Not to be bragadocious. But she can’t get enough of me. Nobody can. I mean we hadn’t even met. Ok? Our friend, my good good friend, America, we go back years, okay? Years. America set us up. America told me. Donald, I found a woman—Can I call you a woman, Secretary Clinton. Can I? Okay. So America says to me, Donald I found a woman who has to meet you. She does. And you would be doing a huge good deed to meet her. I’m serious. That’s what America said to me. So I said “Okay. I’ll meet her. We’ll go to dinner. She’ll have the best date.” And then America told me, or maybe it was another good friend. Anyway a reliable source, the most reliable, just ask the source. They say “Donald, she’s been writing so many emails to you. And I think she should show them to me. That’s fair.” Donald said.

Hillary smiles and looks at the camera that no one else knew was there. She looks into the camera almost to say “Do you see what you did to me, America. I’m having to sit at a table with this idiot and listen to his nonsensical delusional thoughts. I deserve better. We deserve better.”

Lester looks at Hillary and then at Donald and again at Hillary and once more at Donald. “So two steaks? Hillary, yours well done? And Donald, yours rare? Would you both like salad and a bottle of wine to split?” He asks nervously.

Donald chimes in, “Yes, Lester. Tremendously rare.” There’s an awkward silence as both Lester and Hillary wait for Donald to continue in a longer stream of consciousness. When it doesn’t follow, Hillary begins, “That will be nice, Lester, thank you.”

Donald cuts in, “She’s not nice Lester. Not nice at all. She spent hundreds of millions of dollars to be not nice to me. And I spent so little. So what does that say?”

Lester slowly and silently backs away, leaving Hillary and Donald to continue their date.

“You know Donald, I’m so glad to be here with you, tonight.” Hillary smi-lies (that’s when you lie through a smile, women have learned how to do this perfectly as to not threaten the fragile male ego in the many sexist situations women find themselves in, on any given day.)

“Yes you are. I told America, you would be. And America agreed. She did. Call her.” Donald sniffed.

Donald proceeded to praise himself and all the good jobs he’s done. He told blatant lies about his experiences and when Hillary challenged him he doubled down on those lies. When the food came he insisted he didn’t order the steak rare, saying “I never order rare steaks. I don’t. I would never. But Hillary orders soups. She does. Ask her about her soups.”

Hillary held her smile for what seemed like a world record length of time. She ate her well done steak and sipped her wine, while Donald went on about a club he built or a lawsuit he settled. Hillary got out her phone and sent an SOS text to a friend. It had been 60 minutes—she did not need to listen to this dumbassery any longer.

When the check came, Donald didn’t even move towards it to pretend like he was going to pay. When Hillary glanced at the bill and then up at Donald he said “Maybe I wasn’t satisfied with my meal.” Hillary let out a sigh as she looked at Donald’s lick-cleaned plate.

Hillary politely says good night and tries to shake Donald’s hand. He puts his hands on his hips and says, “I know you’ll want to see me again because I have the best temperament. But you have a bad temperament. From the moment I saw you I thought that. I did. My temperament is just better. It’s good. Really good. I have a tremendous temperament.”

Hillary walks away as quietly and quickly as she can. Donald begins to address the rest of the restaurant. Explaining he had a faulty fork and asking if anyone else noticed that. “But faulty fork aside, tonight was a huge success. I did a great job. Really great.” He ended.

Hillary gets out her phone and texts America, “Girl, are you kidding me? This is who you set me up with? LOLZ.”

 

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