Lil Cal: An American Watches a Debate

They grow up so fast.

Last night Calvin and I microwaved some popcorn after our steak dinner and daily workout routine. On our punching bag, Calvin has duct-taped a “Bin Laden: Wanted Dead or Alive” poster on one side, and an “Obama '08, Osama '09” poster on the other. Lil Cal knows he needs to bulk up for the impending terrorist attack coming inauguration day should – and this is a far-fetched idea – B. Hussein Obama laughably get “elected” (aka suppress enough proud American voters and lower the voting age to 13 by November 4).

He’s a beautiful boy. “I will never – ever – commit myself to an elitist dumbocratic university classroom, dad,” he often says while punching the lights out of Bin Laden’s monstrous face. Then says: “I want to do this for real.”

And Calvin is just 10.

Later, we cuddled together, on our cloth American-made couch, and scooped butter-drenched popcorn from a great Wal Mart-bought bowl. I hand-fed them to my strapping boy, then changed the channel to Fox News, listening for the tell-tale creak as our backyard satellite shifted into place. “What’s on tonight, Dad?”

Though he was unaware of the evening’s festivities, I didn’t strike him.

“Tonight we get to see the debatic equivalent of inner-manned Sarah Palin stick a bullet between the eyes and gut a wild Alaskan Moose to feed her unique portrait of an American family.”

I picked up the phone and called the Grizz. “Hey,” he said, “I was just about to call you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I was just telling my daughter to get ready for the debatic—”

“--equivalent of inner-manned Sarah Palin stick a bullet between the eyes and then gut a wild Alaskan moose to feed her unique portrait of an American family?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

“Okay, well I don’t want to keep you.”

“Alright Brother, take it easy.”

Calvin knew right away that infant-killing Biden had a bad way about him. As Jonah Goldberg so hilariously said this morning: BS stands for “Biden Says.” Let’s remember, Joe Biden thinks you’re stupid enough to forget about the day his dreams Hindenberged and he was forced to resign from his 1988 presidential campaign. Rightfully, he has since been treated like a freak by his fellow constituents. He wasn’t seen again until the following year, biting the pillow as George H.W. Bush physically assaulted the democrat party on his inauguration day.

As evidenced last night, Biden doesn’t know American foreign policy from his not-so-secret stash of 1970s fetish pornography. He’s a racist and has said on more than one occasion that he hates prosperous, Americanized Indians. He tells them to shove donuts down their throats and drink coffee on the garbaged streets of Wilmington, Delaware, a failed welfare city.

So, my son Calvin: as I looked into his eyes, I could see him burying an electrocuted Iraqi terrorist alive after shoving a medic tube down its throat, half-drowning him, and inflicting pain in what should be legal procedure at Club Gitmo. I dreamed of Calvin body-slamming his democrat enemies on the streets of New York City, Boston, Philadelphia, San Francisco, and Washington, D.C. I saw him being an American.

“Wow,” I said as Sarah Palin invoked the Great Ronald Reagan and forced Joey “Diapers” Biden to jump for cover – “There you go again.” When she winked at the camera, she won the vote of every man in America, ashamed of his liberal housewife. Like it or not, when America steps into the voting booth, they’re going to see one candidate – a friend of terrorists, who’s name rhymes with that of a terrorist, who, according to some sources, is the anti-Christ from hell; and a slob – and they’re going to look at the other ticket – a war hero; and beautiful woman with man’s rationale who exclaims “doncha know?” like a patriot.

Who do you think America will choose?

After the debate ended and Joe Biden patted his sweaty forehead, Sarah Palin showed America that she was up to the task and could debate with Putin– because she had just waxed her snowmobile and helicopter with someone as dangerous for America.

I got up off the couch. “You want anything else, son?” I asked.

Calvin had put a pillow over his lap as he stared at slow-mo pictures of Palin while Sean Hannity’s brilliant voice over explained why she had just won the debate so easily. “Just a sec, Dad.”

I smirked. “You get ‘em, Tiger.”