Chatter at the Arroyo Cafe was all about the debate between Martha McSally and Kyrsten Sinema. Rosa watched it online. Rosa asked Sour Frank why his candidate, “Col. Chameleon,” agreed to just one debate.
“Pelosi! Liberal mob! Fake news! Amnesty! Traitor! Pink Tutu!” He took a deep breath. “What was the question?”
“Why only one debate?”
“McSally’s been busy.”
Rosa rolled her eyes. “Busy ducking invitations to town halls, running from seniors who believe she wants to privatize Social Security … twisting her soul into a pretzel to fit up inside President Trump’s big fat agenda … and memorizing scripts sent to her by the Trump campaign.”
I asked Rosa if they touched on immigration.“Kellyanne Con Job said she was for the wall boondoggle and ripping children from their parents … unless Donald Trump has tweeted something totally different in the last hour. She has to check his Twitter feed every five minutes to see what insanity she has to rationalize next.”
“What was Sinema’s response?”
“Kyrsten supported a Republican $1.5 billion border-security appropriation bill that included money for Trump’s border wall. Kyrsten says she can work across the aisle so well that—”
Sour Frank asked in his most sour voice, “How well?”
Lurlene knew how well. “So well that she’s alienated her own Democratic base over and over and over and over …”
I whispered, “Another cup, Rosa?”
“… and over and over and over and over …”
I pointed out that Martha Michelle McBachmann has the lead with her PACs outspending Sinema 3-to-1 on over-the-top negative ads.
“… over and over and over and over …”
Rosa sighed.“We get it, Lurlene. Meanwhile McDirty’s burying Sinema in dirt paid for by dark money.”
Sour Frank slapped the counter. “McSally’s tough. She’s a winner! Like our president!”
Lurlene spit out her coffee. “She worships the ground Herr Drumpf waddles on.”
I laughed. “And health care?”
Rosa frowned. “Sinema said the choices offered by McSally would take us back to the time when people couldn’t afford health insurance —”
Sour Frank cheered. “Yes!—Faster than an F-18 flying at Mach 1. Whooo hooooooo! Kill Obamacare. Kill it!”
“And Kavanaugh?”
Sour Frank turned dark. “Despite a circus of lies and smears, a highly qualified man is now serving on the Supreme Court. As for Miss Ford, McSally said she herself was a victim of assault — ”
Lurlene interrupted with her best frantic McSally impression. “ — But I can compartmentalize that experience, throw empathy out the window and remember what the most wonderful president in the world said: ‘To hell with the truth. It’s all about winning!’ The end justifies the means!”
Sour Frank was unshaken. “Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. Kyrsten’s been undone. McSally has pictures of Kyrsten … in a tutu!” Frank ignored the chorus of laughter.
“Rosa, did they discuss abortion?”
“McSally’s pro-life.”
Lurlene womansplained McTrump to me. “That is why she twisted her soul into this Trumpy wing-nut caricature of her former self — because she’s on a mission to save the babies. She’s willing to follow the liar-in-chief into the moral abyss to do it because she loves children, the tiny helpless innocent children.” Lurlene took a long sip. “Except the Mexican ones in cages.”
Rosa said, “Sinema’s pro-choice. Kyrsten was calm and cool. McSally was frantic. She drove McSally crazy!”
Lurlene agreed. “Yeah. It was Martha McPalin against Kyrsten Obama. Kyrsten was as cool as a “Westworld” robot. She was like a cross between Velma Dinkley from Scooby-Doo with a Bladerunner replicant.”
I had one more question. “Did they make strong closing statements?”
Sour Frank said, “Hell ya. McSally’s close was vintage McSally. No one believed her when she told us Sinema fed children to cannibals and defended ax murderers and protested the war in a tutu and may have one time worn ballerina slippers. Well, you’ll all be sorry. That’s not the half of it. McSally saved the best for last. Back in 2003 Kyrsten did an interview. When the host asked Kyrsten if it was OK to fight for the Taliban, Sinema said, ‘Fine, I don’t care if you want to go do that.’ That’s treason, people! Treason!”
Frank expected jaws to drop. I yawned. Infuriated, he grew hysterical. “Kyrsten is a traitor to everything America stands for.”
Lurlene laughed. “Like what? Fake news, blind patriotism and endless wars?”
“It’s treason I tell you! She should apologize! She’s a blond Benedict Arnold! She’s a traitor! Lock her up!”
Rosa grinned. “Treason? That’s rich coming Col. Chameleon, the chief lickspittle apologist for Vladimir Putin’s puppet Donald J. Trumpski.”
Sour Frank had the final say. “I have three words for you. Pelosi! Fake news! Liberal mob!”
For the next two weeks Rosa said the same thing with every cup she poured. “Vote. Tuesday, Nov. 6th. Vote.”
