A Night to Remember
I don’t know about you, but I can barely contain my excitement about the upcoming UFC event at the White House. The South Lawn brawl June 14 will be drawing hundreds of fans, including military officers who meet height and weight specifications to be let in. I guess that means no fat generals, but we already knew that was the policy advocated by push-up Pete Hegseth.
Nothing more fitting as a celebration of this over-compensating president’s 80th birthday than to have two sweaty, cauliflower-eared brawlers duking it out just below the Truman Balcony. Testosterone will probably cloud the air for what UFC CEO Dana White says will be several “marquee fights.” I’m not sure what he defines as “marquee,” but I can’t wait to find out. Go ahead, name the current UFC heavyweight champion if you can. I can’t.
Can you imagine a more forlorn job than as a color commentator for these “bouts?” Not the blow-by-blow ringside guy, but the “expert” he defers to on the “technique” involved in kicking an opponent in the head. What the hell is the expertise involved here? These “cage matches” could be seen for free in most Chicago alleys when I was a kid. Whatever. I hope the combatants will beckon President Cankles to join them in the octagon for a little push and shove.
But why stop with the cage matches? Why not offer some really red meat to the poorly educated MAGA crowd on hand. I have a few suggestions:
If the organizers really want to get the crowd going, why not offer us some oiled-up female wrestlers wearing high heels in the ring? Slapping each other around while the audience goes wild!
They could be followed by some alligator, bear, or gorilla wrestling too — the finer points of taking down a huge reptile could be explained over the loudspeaker by Stephen Miller while the event is underway.
What’s a presidential birthday without an honest-to-God tractor-pulling contest? Sure, it will leave huge ruts in the lawn, but all the heavy-duty machinery involved in destroying the East Wing has already done much of that job.
If some are not transfixed by such a display, there could be Jefferson Davis impersonators roaming around and offering autographs to Confederate dead-enders.
When the “fighting” is done, why not stage an all-White basketball team that can actually defeat the Harlem Globetrotters for once? What a kick that would be! And long overdue. Take your D.E.I., your Critical Race Theory and your Project 1619 and put it where the sun don’t shine!
Imagine that sun setting on the Ellipse as Mel Gibson offers a stirring reading of Warren G. Harding’s first — and only — inaugural address. I’ve got chills.
That could be followed by an audience-participation game I’d call “Can you?” As in:
Can you find Iran on a map?
Can you find Ukraine on a map?
Can you find Greenland on a map?
Can you find the 51st State on a map?
Can you find your ass with both hands?
Exhausted? Save your strength. You won’t want to miss a facsimile of the Fox News “green room” where you can meet a bunch of anchors you’ve never heard of, and where you still might bump into Jesse Waters or Trey Gowdy for a spirited conversation about Hillary’s emails or Hunter’s laptop. Jazzed yet?
Vendors could be selling red hot MAGA thongs along with new $100 DVDs of the Melania movie. The First Lady, sadly, probably won’t make it that night. But there should be plenty of Melania blow-up dolls for those who need a fix.
And now that a federal judge has ordered Trump’s name must be chiseled off the facade of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, our president could top of the night with a fitting response.
He could tell us he plans to do what he’s always wanted to, re-name the Executive Mansion “Chez Trump.”