Jeb Bush proves that you cannot waddle your way to the Presidency, once again. When will he finally leave the stage?

 

¡Jeb! is circling the drain rapidly.

 

I think I hear the gurgling and suckingslurping sounds of a Presidential campaign’s death rattle and the last vestiges of testosterone pouring out a sinking, emasculated ship.

 

 

Is this Jeb guy serious?
Did he call Donald Trump a “jerk” with all the fastidious seriousness of a schoolyard victim?
Did the crowd really laugh and clap?

 

Jeb Bush, the “man,” the Republican candidate, has provoked so much cringe-worthy fodder, I don’t even know where to begin.

 

It’s as if, in Bush and Trump, we are handed for this Presidential season, two unabashed caricatures of the polarized methods of perceiving and interacting with modern, 21st Century culture.

 

Who in the world, other than a chronically sequestered spawn of privilege, would seriously consider calling another adult man a “jerk” with such self-righteous “take that” muted nostril flares?

 

The saddest, most pathetic part of this is that Bush truly seemed to bask in a private sense of victory and moral supremacy after those words trembled out his mouth. And that weird gesture he made wherein, during the puzzling applause, he reached to his water bottle and gave it a pronounced twist, reminded me of a weak man’s attempt to grab his penis in a show of Alpha provocation.

 

And I don’t trust men who carry water bottles all the time. That’s a chick thing. Real men realize you don’t need to lug around 10 ounces of water everywhere. A chug from a cup will do you good…we are all ass-monkeys, sitting and standing all day. Who needs such a constant source of water in this world?

 

Jeb, you gotta go back.