I really wasn’t going to bring it up, since I didn’t want to seem petty, but, since it already has been brought up, and is being taken seriously, I feel it’s time to tackle the elephant in the room… and if you’ve ever tried to tackle an elephant, you know what a well-chosen endeavor I’m undertaking here.
I know we’re all thinking it, but… someone has to say it.
That’s right. Despite their endless bragging, both of our candidates have mediocre grandchildren.
Sorry, but for all this arguing about who has the most extraordinary grandchildren, I must say… I’m not impressed. They don’t "wow” me as have presidential candidate grandchildren of the past.
Perhaps this was addressed during one of the debates and I just missed it, but… do either of these candidates have a grandchild who can play the solo from Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)”? (a kid singing “Lord knows I’m a voodoo child!” would be adorable! Picture it in your mind! Now, stop that, you’re too good at it and it’s freaking me out about you) Now that would be extraordinary! Can they juggle? No. Build an internal combustion engine out of parts found in the trash and some ordinary household bleach? I doubt it. Can they catch a Milk Bone out of the air? No, and I once had a dog who could do that! I have yet to see one of these kids do so much as a trick with a fucking yo-yo for Christsake!
Until I see a pilot’s license or a Pulitzer Prize, I think it’s best that they stop bringing these kids up.
Forget “extraordinary,” I’d settle for merely “remarkable” at this point. These seem to be just plain kids. Children are like poems… they’re special to you because you created them, but most times they’re silly and everyone’s a bit embarrassed for you when you trot them out. These are “okay” grandchildren, I suppose. I mean, they’re presentable and all, they’re nice, but where are the handsprings and cartwheels and re-translations of Dante’s Inferno? We’re not even close to where we need to be in the candidate's-grandchild department, people. Admit it!
You realize that if Trump comes up with a grandchild who can so much as plonk out “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on a xylophone, our hopes of holding on to the White House are toast, don’t you? I can read Trump’s tweets now: “My grandchildren are the best! I get the right people to make grandchildren! Don't tell me about your shabby grandchildren! Boring! Not a fan!”
I think, unpleasant as it is, we should address this grandchild problem, because if we don’t, you know the Republicans will. Ted Cruz probably already has files on both Hillary’s and Bernie’s grandchildren. He will, I fear, be able to disprove the “remarkable” claims and then our candidates will lose trustworthiness. Don’t let the October surprise be “Your grandchild can’t even comprehend the prose of Henry James!” (Never mind the fact that most adults can’t do that, either… god, what was wrong with that man?)
I find myself wishing that Martin O’Malley were older, so we’d have a chance in this thing. If only he had a grandchild who could fling a shotput or something! Train a squirrel, customize a motorcycle, anything!
As a single-issue voter who makes my decision based entirely on the extraordinariness of a candidate’s grandchildren, I can’t help but harking back to the kind of grandchildren we used to get from history’s candidates.
Let’s examine some historical facts*, shall we?
I think back to Chester A. Arthur… now there was a candidate with an extraordinary grandchild! Little Eugene B. (the B was for “Beauregard”) Arthur, the Wonder of the 1870’s! People were lining up to see his extraordinary feats before he was even weaned! He was born with all his teeth, was singing tenor in a choir at the age of 18 months, could scale the highest tree in Virginia in eight seconds, and was an accomplished unicyclist at two! Never needed a diaper! Strolled right out of the womb and asked the attending nurse with a roguish wink, “Which way to the W.C.?” By three he was Ambassador to Bolivia! In that capacity he solved the "Bay of Marmosets” standoff, which was a very complicated situation, especially since Bolivia doesn't have a bay.
And young Reginald VanBuren — known as “Haystacks” Van Buren, the Milwaukee Terror! Before he was three years old he was wrestling grown men on the carnival circuit, and could throw a carriage onto the roof of a barn! He had two thumbs on each hand, and a full mustache by the time he started nursery school, and was one of the world’s most famous beekeepers by the age of five. It’s one of history’s great tragedies that he was killed in a duel over a woman at seven, before he could fulfill his potential to be America's greatest pastry chef.
And who can forget Cynthia Denise Harrison, nicknamed “Taffy,” the granddaughter of William Henry Harrison? The plays she wrote — all before her teeth came in — are still being performed to this day. In fact, I fully expect her estate to sue the makers of that new Star Wars movie for plagiarism. I believe that she would have gone on to become the first female president if she hadn’t made the fateful decision at age four to devote herself to the art of fine cabinet-making. She also wrote The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde, but it was published by Robert Louis Stevenson instead because it was believed “nobody will buy a book written by a three-year-old.” It’s a suppressed fact of history that she also invented the first helicopter, but it wasn’t put into production because people were sent into panics by flying things at that time.
And, of course, Grover Cleveland’s grandson, the remarkable Winthrop J. Cleveland… well, we don’t like to bring him up because he was a criminal mastermind, but despite his nefarious deeds he did , while still in his crib, come up with a prototype hoverboard which scientists are to this day unable to replicate! It’s a shame he used it to rob Fort Knox, but, oh well. By the way, history has since revealed that the secret identity of the superhero who stopped him — Flying-Squirrel-Boy -- was none other than William McKinley’s grandchild, Benjy, who also founded the town of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. They named it after some guy named Harris, however, because “nobody would believe a four year old founded a town.”
What modern candidate has a grandchild who can compete with these? None, that’s who! I think we all remember the failed campaign of John Anderson in 1980, with his bumper sticker — VOTE FOR JOHN ANDERSON, HIS GRANDCHILD CAN PLAY THE VIOLIN! — to which the American people said, “Big fucking deal, John, Ronald Reagan's grandson does that while rollerskating… backwards! BOOOO! Go home, John!” as they hurled garbage at him. God, that was an ugly Republican convention...
Anyway, hopefully now that it's out in the open, won’t you please join me in telling both candidates, “The American people are sick and tired of hearing about your damn grandchildren!”
* -none of these are historical, nor are they facts, I just made shit up because I’m silly and this place desperately needs some fun made of it. To my knowledge none of this is true, Hillary and Bernie both have what I’m sure are wonderful, magnificent grandchildren, and I am completely full of shit… but I admit it, which is the only thing separating me from many of you. We are all goofs at this point.
This has been a satirical diary just for the hell of it. No candidates, nor their grandchildren, nor supporters of either candidate or candidate’s grandchildren, or grandchildren in general, were harmed. Nor should any of you be. If you were, though, god, that would be ridiculous.