Reviewing the results of the Arkansas primaries in Wednesday’s post, I pointed out that the current occupant of the Oval Office garnered a measly 160 votes here in Marion County, and that Trump got over 14 times that many. I didn’t take into account factors like turnout and the tendency for an incumbent or a “presumptive nominee” to inspire less enthusiasm among his party’s voters.
Unfair? Let’s see if we can learn anything from the two previous presidential primaries.
Doctor Dementia, hiding in his basement, won in Marion County in 2020, getting 327 of 850 Democrat votes. His 160 votes on Tuesday — a 51% drop (numerically) — came from just 180 ballots cast. That’s the very definition of “low enthusiasm.”
And Trump? Pitted against a competitive field in 2016, he won here with 1,581 of 3,700 Republican votes. Four years later, as an incumbent president, he actually gained a few votes, taking 1,591 of the 1,630 cast. So while GOP turnout was down, predictably, enthusiasm for the candidate didn’t suffer.
A few days ago, 2,286 of 2,790 Republican ballots went for Trump — a 44% increase (numerically) in our county over 2020. Again, that’s despite significantly lower turnout.
Those numbers paint a clear picture — Trump is a unique figure in American politics, and the current occupant of the Oval Office is a pathetic one. The People of Marion County, Arkansas recognize that.
When we dined at Carolyn’s Razorback Ribs the other day, Deb told Carolyn that she missed seeing the “Buffalo Ranch Chicken Wrap” on the menu.
“Well,” said the proprietor, “I’m lookin’ for a new Thursday special. How ’bout we make it the wrap this week?”
That, of course, meant that we just had to eat there yesterday. Besides being delicious, it made us feel pretty special ourselves.
Afterward, as soon as we turned onto our road we came up on seven whitetails. I took my foot off the gas and let the truck creep at idle toward the group, which didn’t seem too terribly spooked at our presence. (That’s not unusual on The Mountain.) Deb grabbed some good pictures.
The label “happy warrior” has been used over the last century to characterize American politicians who pursue their principles unapologetically but with a certain cheerfulness — notably Al Smith in the 1920s, Hubert Horatio Humphrey in the ’50s and ’60s, and most recently Ronald Reagan.
No one would ever say that about the current occupant of the Oval Office.
If you endured the “State of the Union” last night — which was, let’s face it, a campaign speech, not a “presidential” address — you saw unrestrained, seething anger. There was no cheerfulness. The tone was that of 1934 Nürnberg.
I won’t pick apart the wretched content of the speech — the bald dishonesty, the unrelenting disrespect of traditional values, the hatred of anyone who dares stand in the way of the progressive juggernaut. I expected it to be breathtakingly anti-American, and it was.
I also expected him to expose his well-known cognitive incapacity, his raging senile dementia. Other than the now-familiar slurring and an unmistakable vacancy behind his beady squint, that didn’t happen. There’s only one plausible explanation.
It’s beyond credible dispute that he was heavily medicated. In the past he’s displayed clear evidence of “sundowning,” along with a pattern of fading rapidly over long, animated public appearances. I didn’t see that last night.
Something else I didn’t see — his handlers didn’t try to whisk him away after the speech. That’s telling. They knew how juiced he was.
I have no idea what kind of experimental cocktail they pumped into him or how many milligrams (or gallons) it took to keep him awake and upright. Whatever it was, Daffy’s docs will have to keep dosing him with the potion throughout the campaign.
The drugging will take a heavy physical toll, which increases the chances that he won’t survive to the end of his term. You know what that means, right?
Chuckles, the vapid Veep, becomes POTUS #47. November’s general election gets “postponed.” And FLOTUS #44, reneging on her recent vow not to run, rescues her party (and dooms the country).
It’s a very dangerous game they’re playing.
Our rain gauge registered three-quarters of an inch yesterday and overnight. That seemed a little low to compared to how it sounded on the roof of the camper. Regardless, we welcomed the wet.
Deb said that the county road was foggy during her commute to work this morning. I was standing upslope from the cabin as we talked, and I could see what she was driving through — a bank of thick white clouds rose from the crease that contains Crooked Creek. It stretched from the west, in the direction of town, around to the north of us.
We got a couple of showers this afternoon. A little more rain is in the forecast for tonight. Bring it on.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB