Who would you rather have a beer with?
That was how the competition for the Presidency was summed-up by our press in 2004 and the electorate supposedly chose to have a beer with an un-recovered alcoholic who wouldn’t shut-up, never made a lick of sense, never bought a round, lost every bar-bet and refused to pay up and then challenged everyone to a fight.
Now, as the bell for last-orders is being rung, our drinking buddy is preparing to piss on the juke-box and throw-up by the front door just before catching a stretch limousine home whilst we have to pay the tab and clean-up.
It’s weird; he seemed like such a decent, regular guy when we first met him. And as we stagger home feeling the onset of a massive hangover, we swear, on three-thousand eight-hundred and something graves, that we’re never going to do that again!