He’s not registered to vote. He’s not even a real person. But on June 23, the deciding vote on “Brexit”—the referendum on whether Britain will remain within or exit the EC—may well be cast by an anonymous chap known only as the Rolling English Drunkard.
“I figured the best way to generate interest in my CRAP project was to show the network brass that it wasn’t far-fetched; that with the right celebrity under the right circumstances, anyone who is universally known, respected and willing to say absolutely anything could generate enough support to be elected President of the United States.”
You hear a gay bar called a “soft target,” and you are forced to confront the inconceivability of hardening the soft targets where you live your life, like the mall you were planning to shop at this afternoon, or the café where you ate last night, which in hindsight could be the twin of the Tel Aviv café where terrorists killed four people a few days before.
Many people vote to send a message of rage and to shake things up, but I suspect just as many vote to maximize the fun of watching all that tumultuousness play out in the media. I include myself; I feel that undertow.
We’re not just voting for a candidate, we’re voting for an experience — the rush of crisis, the thrill of combat, the high of “breaking news,” the squirt of dopamine when something crazy could happen next. The electorate has become the audience, and the audience has become addicted to entertainment.
Republicans reluctant to support the candidacy of Donald Trump are being bludgeoned with the argument that the next president could appoint as many as three Supreme Court justices. If Donald doesn’t pick them, Hillary will.
So Republicans should rally to Trump for that reason alone.
Pardon me, but I’m not buying that argument.