How Our Boy Lost the Veep Stakes
The process of picking a running mate on the Republican ticket by the presumptive nominee last week had all the gravitas and drama of an episode of “Let’s Make a Deal.”
Like contestants on the Monty Hall game show, Candidate Trump needed to choose among three doors for the big prize.
The candidate seemed to be wrestling in public as he was making what he called his final final choice. I can understand the difficulty, since he had three winners behind the doors, according to the views of their champions.
In the real world of “Let’s Make a Deal,”(1963-1986), behind one door was a brand new car. The two others contained goats. Picking the right door would give insight into the ability of the entertainer-in-chief making tough choices, of which there would be many once ensconced in the Oval Office with red buttons on his desk and the world going bananas.
Behind Door Number One was Mister Charisma, the Indiana governor and Ted Cruz fan. Mike Pence is a man who began his career at the lowest level (radio talk show host) and rose to become the worst governor in Indiana history; a man who has the personality of a cauliflower, not meaning to defame cauliflowers; a man who could be the most boring vice presidential candidate since Indiana’s own Potato Head Dan Quayle. Pence was no Dan Quayle. If Trump chose him it would be a sign of showbiz paranoia, the fear of being upstaged.
Behind Door Number two was the unfathomable and always entertaining Newt Gingrich. A MENSA graduate compared to Trump who brags of knowing everything about foreign affairs by watching not only Fox News but the other cable news networks, Newt is a man who boldly goes where no politician has gone before. It was Captain Newt who proposed during a presidential debate (2012) we could make America great by building a moon colony, the perfect place to send all the immigrants clamoring at our doors today. Mexicans and Muslims getting fast track preference, if Trump wins! All of which should qualify Gingrich for the job of director of NASA.
And then there was Door Number Three—let me check my notes here—with the distinguished governor of New Jersey, Chris Christie, banging his horns at the door for attention. If he wasn’t chosen, there already were reports he would stop picking up Trump’s clothes at the cleaners.
He weighs more than any other candidate. He also was the first of the rivals in the campaign to humiliate himself by endorsing the winner prematurely. On stage, he looked like Sancho Panza to Trump’s Don Quixote. He is considered so vile in his home state; he would fit right in with the presumptive presidential nominee, widely thought to be the most sickening candidate ever for president.
Door Number Three occupant was not well liked by the family, the kitchen cabinet that seems to have hijacked the candidate, notorious for making gut decisions from the top of his hair. The opposition was led by his son-in-law whose father was prosecuted by Christie in his glory days as a Federal prosecutor. How small can you get?
I can understand the further reluctance of the Trump Kitchen Kabinet Korps. Our boy does have a lot of other baggage. When vetted by the Romney team in 2012 for Veep so many troubling problems turned up in his past record, he smelled like the Jersey Meadows.
Just this past week David Sansom, Christie’s mentor and Rasputin he had made Chairman of the Port Authority, became a felon, pleading guilty to bribery charges, getting United to reopen a money-losing route to the airport near his vacation home in South Carolina.
And three members of the Christie team will be on trial this fall for their alleged role in the GWB lane closing scandal. By Election Day, Christie’s inner circle would look like a chain gang on their way to the can. These are the Katzenjammer Kids, as Trump so ungraciously pointed out, who never mentioned to the boss what they were planning to do that day, even though they breakfasted together every morning.
And so it came to pass that the presumptive nominee, ignoring his gut as he put it, and went for Boring Mike. I should point out that I am not without bias in wanting our boy getting the VP slot. As chairman of the “Christie for Vice President in 2016” pressure group, it was our last chance to get the governor kicked up to Washington, without the messy impeachment trial for dereliction of duty (being out of office since 2013 while running for president), and a time-consuming recall campaign.
The VP door slammed shut left us with a governor wandering around the office and kitchens in Trenton, trying to find his missing cell phone—which his lawyers claimed they returned after the investigation by his own legal firm which proved he knew nothing of the GWB lane closings at a cost of only $8.7 million of taxpayer money—possible evidence for his own indictment.
He now has the freedom to continue closing road and bridge reconstruction projects, pursuing education reforms helping kids in rich communities like Ridgewood and Tenafly, while penalizing those in Paterson and Camden, driving more and more of our seniors to Florida, and not helping business, except for the fast food industry.
We are all hoping some job in the Trump administration turns up. Given the way he has dealt with bridges, roads and tunnels, he would be a good choice heading the Department of Transportation.
I tell you the campaign has been so depressing to the people of New Jersey, let’s all join Governor Fatty Pants in having another Oreo or six.
July 17, 2016