Joe Biden, blowhard

Just imagine...

You had to go to this business conference in a small town. You don't know anyone in town or, really, anyone at the convention. You spent all day listeing to boring chatter from the podium. At lunch, a group of folks sharing a single employer invited you to sit at their table-for-eight. They're nice people, but the conversation descended into office gossip, and while you tried to look attentive, who really gives a damn?

So now 5:30, you get back to the hotel. Just want to order a room service dinner, take a shower, watch TV, call the family, go to bed and get up early for the flight home.

But, crossing the lobby, there's the bar off to one side. Dim, bluish lighting. Sounds of ice and glass tinkling. Maybe some kind of music.

Wouldn't it be nice to have a nice, quiet glass of wine to unwind for a moment?

So you go in. Sit at the sparsely populated end of the bar, order a white Zinfandel or somethuing. Watching the local news and the pathetic, locally-produced TV commercials.

Then some guy walks in, surrounded by what seems like a cloud of dust. Or something. He's loud. He's nicely dressed. You can smell his expensive cologne from across the room. He's stopping at all the tables on his way to the bar, greeting people, joking. However, it becomes apparent that those people don't know him, and while they're friendly -- a few toss a few quips back at him -- they don't really know him.

You assume he's an out of town traveler like yourself. And he must do this all the time, because he's got his act down pat.

The guy goes to the bar, slaps down a $100.00 and orders "Drinks for all my friends." You kinda think in the back of your mind, "Cool. So I get another $6.00 glass of wine for free."

Unfortunately, as the guys glances up and down the bar with mischievous eyes, his gaze falls on you.

Oh, jeez. Here he comes.

He stands next to you, at first. Bangs on the bar to make sure the bartender serves you that second glass of wine chop-chop (his own words.)

"Where ya from?" he asks loudly.

You say, "Chicago, but --"

"Chicago!" he booms with delight. Then begins a 15-minute harangue about all of his adventures in Chicago.

Meanwhile, the bartender brings your second glass of wine.

"So, you have a family?" he asks.

You mention a couple kids.

He launches into a string of anecdotes about his kides and grandkids, his glittering eyes fixed on you and demanding cheerful nods of acknowledgement to ensure that you're following his rather commonplace stories and not very insightful observations. After about 20 mnutes, your face begins to hurt, paralyzed into a compliant smile. You're exhausted emotionally, drained. You gulp down that second wine, looking for an escape.

"Let me buy you dinner!" the guy demands. Not asks. "Don't worry. It's all covered by the expense account." That's his idea of a joke.

"Well, I'm expecting a phone call," you try.

"Go on, take your call, I'll meet you in the dining room."

"Well...."

He's not getting it. But worse -- he is getting it. He knows you find him a rude bore, but he keeps on pushing, knowing you're too polite to suggest he go outside and play in the traffic.

Now he's leaning over you, being confidential, speaking quietly, very serious, his alcoholic sweet-sour breath enough to turn your stomach.

He's got his arm around your shoulder now. On and on about his life experiences, his family, his career. Made up tales freighted with a sloppy sentimentalilty. Absolutely convinced within his own mind that this is just as important to you as it is to him. Oh my God, is he going to cry now?

This is more or less my impression of Joe Biden. He acted like he was drunk or something during the debate with Paul Ryan last night. That is to say, Biden seems to recognize no boundaries of civil society. Or he's drunk or something, his inhibitions vanished. He apparently has no moral compass, except for maybe whatever he remembers from what the nuns taught him 40 or 50 years ago.

He heaves himself at you, his cup running over with a cartoonish sentimentality -- not genuine passion, but sentimentality, like something from a cheap sympathy card.

God, what an ass.

How can we get rid of this guy?

I think you know how.

Save the Republic.