hursday night’s presidential debate between John Kerry and George W. Bush had a strong ratings showing, and allowed the candidates to outline their future platforms, especially regarding foreign policy and Iraq. However, no candidate clearly fumbled the ball and shot himself in the foot with his big mouth, meaning the disappointing debate ended without a clear loser.

With a month left to go before the election, the debate provided one of the most visible opportunities for either of the two leading candidates to piss the election down his leg, whether through a verbal slip-up, a glaring faux pas, or farting directly into the microphone. Some election-watchers speculate the senior Bush performed just such a metaphorical gas outburst in 1992, when during a debate with future president Bill Clinton, he resignedly checked his watch to see if it was over. In Thursday’s debate, though he made some gas-appropriate faces, the second Bush, nor his opponent, did anything to completely obliterate their chances of election.

Most watchers generally felt the debate favored Kerry, who went on the offensive early and avoided appearing dead through much of it. The president, though being on the offensive, even managed to show a passing familiarity with the language long enough to fend off Kerry’s attacks and reiterated his platform that Iraq is safer today, unless you’re an Iraqi, since his administration got rid of Saddam Hussein. The word "beheading" somehow managed to stay out of the conversation.

While Kerry did not outline an escape plan for Iraq, he guaranteed he would bring in more European countries who hate Bush to help shoulder the responsibility for rebuilding the country and setting up its new puppet government. Not stated, but implied, was Kerry’s continuing the Democratic plan to not invade countries just for their resources. At least not overtly.

Recent polls exhibit Kerry’s apparent dominance in the debate. The numbers have again turned for the Democrat, showing he now holds a smidgen of a lead over the president among those polled, whoever the hell they are, showing 49% of them were more likely t vote for Kerry in a two-way race, versus 46% for Bush; in a three-way race with Ralph Nader, 47% favored Kerry, 45% favoring Bush, and whatever’s left over going for Nader or some weird-ass third-party candidate. In a three-way race with a well-dressed monkey, the president fared much worse, with 49% holding for Kerry, 40% preferring Bush, and 11% wanting to hear the monkey’s plans for improving the economy.

The same polls endorsed Kerry’s debate showing, as 61% feeling Kerry had won the debate, as opposed to a deluded 19% who believed the president had dominated. The remaining 20% thought C.S.I. really went to shit this week.

Still, the lack of a clear loser means, according to some, we’re still in the midst of one of the tightest presidential races in history, and time is running out for a candidate to win over the confidence of a large majority of the public.

"On one hand," said Professor Norm Chauncey of Newark University, some guy who watched the debate at the bus station with this reporter, "President Bush has failed to credibly justify his overextended military actions in the Middle East, as well as an economy that doesn’t seem to be improving. And on the other side of the table, you have John Kerry—a guy somehow failing to convince the entire nation he would not be a worse president than George W. Bush. We’re looking at a couple of real losers here."

The professor outlined his plan for America, if he were to become president, as we awaited the arrival of the 11:05 to Flatbush.

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How was your day?

Eh. Half and half.

Half milk and half cream?

Nope, more like Heroin and Alf.

Like Jerry Stahl?

I said Heroin and Alf.

Never mind.

What's that you're drinking?

A can of orange juice.

I didn't see you shake that.

That's right, you didn't.

It says "Shake gently before enjoying".

Don't worry. I'm not enjoying it.

"No, nevermind operator. I don't have an emergency. I mean to dial 9-1-2. Sorry."

Do you realize those shoes don't go with those pants?

What, brown and black don't match now?

No, the characters.

Charlie Brown and Lucy don't go together? Did I miss an episode?

That's not Lucy, that's a Powerpuff Girl.

Really?

Uh-huh.

And Powerpout Girls don't go with Charlie Brown?

That's not Charlie Brown, that's Cartman.

The slob kid?

That's Pigpen. You're on the wrong show.

Then who in the hell do I have on my underwear?

Those are stains, not characters.

They have character.

I stand corrected.

Do you ever think about what happens when you die?

Your shoes change color and you have to bleach the sink.

That sounds dangerous for the environment. Like that movie.

Spice World?

No, the one with Jason Robards. Edwynn. Edwynn Broncobitch.

You never leave the house, do you?

Only during fire drills.

I've got one for you.

Only one?

Yes. Why is an elephant like an accordion?

Why?

I didn't say it was a joke.

Oh.

Do you think I'm fat?

Not impressively.

People say I'm the biggest waist of their time.

They'll do that.

I wonder if I'll get any more mail today?

Not likely. Unless you grow a mustache. I'd suggest handlebars.

You think that's why my bike keeps crashing?

You never know.

I take that personally.

I meant to bark it like a dog.

Once again, you've failed.

If I was executed by the press, would they use a noosepaper?

Not likely, I think they've gone Hindu. All I hear about is the press on nails.

I hear they make quiet neighbors. No creaking beds.

True, but they're hell on inflatable sheep.

What do you think of human cloning?

I think they should leave cloning to the clowns.

Too true. What about genetic engineering?

Somebody has to drive the trains.

You couldn't be more right.

I'm every bit the riot you are. I've got cars on fire.

I've got people setting fire to their own grandparents.

Really? Are they burning well?

Like cordwood.

I'll have to remember to pack some grandparents the next time I go camping.

Do you camp often?

-silence-

Hello?

Oh, sorry. I thought you were talking to someone else.

So did I.

Taxi!

Slugbug! -sock-

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Austin; Cheryl; Penny… it's time to meet your new mom.

I know you kids don't take to change very well. And I wish like hell there was a more comforting way to introduce her to you than through my column, which I sincerely doubt most of you even read. But you're all spread out over the country and this is the most affordable way to do it, time- and money-wise.

Philip; Cassie; Archie; Vicki… I'm talking to you, too. Don't think I've forgotten. I may not have been the greatest dad to all of you, and if I've misspelled your names in any fashion, please forgive that minor indiscretions. After all, if it weren't for minor indiscretions, most of you wouldn't even be here! But I kid your promiscuous mothers.

Back to the subject. Felchyana may be different than all of you, and her country is full of heartless atheists who dwell in poverty, but that doesn't make her any different than any other step-moms I've brought home, even the one-night variety. And Felchyana will be here for quite a while, since we've paid out the apartment lease through the month. She also speaks a funny language and loves baking cakes, so if you kids want any delicious birthday surprises, you'd better be on your best behavior. Don't think I don't mean you, Ronnie.

Felicia; Kim; Dambo; Manray! I hope you're paying attention. You never did come around to Arvelyn all that much. I know she may have been a deceitful, hateful bitch who tried to kill me. A hideous bottom-feeding creature who sucked all will to live and joy out of my life. But—what was the question? Forget it. I just want you kids to give Felchyana a chance. She means more to me than anything in the world. Even you kids.

Pablo! Juanita! Federico! Hablo inglés, kids? Treat your new mom with respect, that's all I'm trying to say. I have never taken marriage lightly, except for maybe the monogamy part. But when I enter into a marriage, it's like a contract. Like doing business with someone. You have to trust them, and I trust Felchyana more than anyone knows. There's simple explanations why I don't give her a key to the apartment and lock her inside when I leave. I just don't need to explain myself to you kids. When was the last time you even came around to see me, your own father? I'm not talking to you, Hugo. I know you're in the iron lung still. Get better soon, kiddo!

Bah. Look at me, getting angry for little or no reason. That isn't like me. But when I say I want things to better between us, I mean all of us. That includes Felchyana as well as you. I also include all of you in that declaration, even those of you I've disowned in a furor over the years. So Slim; Buaana; Jefferson Davis; Lindetta; Moby; Sheena; Opinion; Dandy; Carl; Carl, Jr.; Mannix—welcome back into my life kids. Let bygones be bygones. Except for you, Abraham. You can never be forgiven, for reasons you know all too well.

Ah. Caroline; Fanta; The Gooch… this weight has finally been lifted. I never tried to hide how I felt about Felchyana, but I may not have let you know just how serious I feel about her until now. Especially since some of you I haven't spoken to in 40 years or more (By the way, how is the new hip, Soma?). But I'm starting a new part of my life, and I feel like a young man. Practically 55 again! Which reminds me, happy 55th birthday, Rambo.

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