Fixing the Debates

“Mom, why are those two people fighting?”

“They’re not fighting – they’re debating.”

“But…. but why are they fighting?”

“They’re not fighting, they’re….. oh, heck.  You’re probably right.  They are fighting.  Anyways, remember?  They’re the candidates who are trying to become the next President.  That’s what debate night is:  two candidates get up and argue with each other a couple of times, and then you vote for the one you think won.”

“That’s dumb. They should really fight each other.”

“Well, I mean, that’d be entertaining, but–“

“Yeah!  Yeah!  They could…. they could throw stuff at each other!”

“Yeah!  Like a bag of chips!”

“Boys, I don’t know if that’s the right answe–”

“Yeah, they could throw stuff at each other, until they knock each other down!”

“And then they could be all PEW! PEW! with the chips, or maybe a sandwich, and it would hit the other one, and they’d fall off their table, and then they’d win!”

“Boys, that’s not very nice—“


“Yeah!  And then they’d be all, ‘Haha, you fell down. I won!’ ”


You know, I feel like I my boys might be on to something. I’d watch it.


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6 thoughts on “Fixing the Debates

  1. If it meant we’d get two new candidates, I’m totally in favor. I actually went to the movies last night so I wouldn’t be tempted to watch the “debate.” And get irritated that in a land of supposed freedom, my options for our next president our limited to two very poor choices.

  2. Hey Becky, it’s times like these that I’m glad to be 8000 km away. But then, J says he will never live in America if a certain candidate wins. *sigh* It must be exhausting to be in America lately. I will vote from here online.

  3. Oh, and remember how you made us authentic tacos? I made not-authentic tacos yesterday (no choice, Europe) and mentioned it to a lady who called me to talk on the phone. She said, “Tacos? I’ve never had a taco in my life.”

    I was stunned. That’s like, that’s like….well, never having a hamburger in your life? What a sad life! J said, “Oh B, it’s not like Tacos are American.” I said, “Well, not the ones Becky Bean makes.” (And not like those at the taco truck we found at Lake Chelan, oh, a truck, with tacos!)

    • I need you to come back. I’m still horribly embarrassed by that “mexican rice” I made you.


      PS: I thought you might appreciate that today I am taking my neighbor’s tomatillos and making green salsa.

      Also, since you know how urban my little house actually is…. THE BEAN SAW A MOUNTAIN LION IN OUR NEIGHBOR’S YARD YESTERDAY!

  4. I wrote a short story once for election day, in which the two local vitriolic candidates were sent by their staffs to a “fundraiser” that turned out to be a water balloon fight. People in the bleachers could purchase red or blue water balloons for the candidates to throw. After throwing 20 water balloons (or when a balloon bucket was empty) a candidate was allowed two minutes at the microphone. It was timed, and the power cut off from the mike when the bell rang. Interrupting the other speaker resulted in immediate power cut to the mike for 2 minutes.

    Then: back to the water balloons.

    And the money raised all went to charity, not to the campaigns. Because it’s my story, and I said so.

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