Vail Daily column: All right, we’ll call it a draw, for now
The legendary scene in Monty Python’s classic “Search for the Holy Grail” was more prophetic than anyone could have possibly imagined.
In this version we see the presumptive leader of the new and improved GOP, searching for the ever-elusive American Crown of Control, as he comes upon Sir Old Guard along his yellow brick path to the White House (it’s my version so I can mix whatever metaphors I choose).
Candidate Trump: “I command you, as self-proclaimed King of the Republicans, to stand aside and allow my nomination to proceed!”
Sir Old Guard: “I move for no man.”
Candidate Trump: “So be it!”
The primary fight begins, with Trump quickly cutting off Sir Old Guard’s left arm.
Trump: “Now, stand aside, worthy adversary, so I might build my wall to keep out the Mexicans and Muslims.”
OG: “’Tis but a scratch!”
Trump: “A scratch? Your arm’s off!”
OG: “No, it isn’t!”
Trump points at the bloody appendage laying on the ground.
“Well, what’s that then?”
“I’ve had worse…”
“You Obama appeasing liar! If you don’t move immediately I shall be forced to send thou a scathing Twitter!”
“Oh come on, you pansy!”
And the fight continues, with Trump cutting off Sir Old Guard’s right arm.
“Victory is mine!” he shouts to the masses, who had gathered to watch their latest savior in action.
Jumping up on the Golden Podium, Trump begins to give thanks to his minions, but Sir Old Guard sneaks up from behind and begins kicking the presumptive nominee pointedly in the backside. Annoyed, he checks his hair in the always-present mirror to make sure all is well, and though acknowledging the irritation, is quickly losing patience.
“You are indeed brave, Sir Old Guard, but the fight is mine, for I alone, your new King, am the only one capable of defeating the evil Queen Hillary and capturing the crown!”
“Oh, had enough, eh?”
“Look, you stupid bastard, you’ve got no arms left!”
The fight begins anew, until finally, Sir Old Guard is little more than an appendage-free piece of meat teetering upright in the dirt.
“All right, we’ll call it a draw,” the old man reluctantly relents.
“Come, Sir Christie,” announces Trump, and they continue down the same path, banging two coconuts together to give the appearance of knowing what they are doing.
“Oh, oh, I see!” suddenly shouts Sir Old Guard, apparently never learning. “Running away, eh? You yellow bastard! Come back here and take what’s coming to you! I’ll bite your leg off, I’ll mess up your hair by blowing on it! I’ll…”
But the King can no longer hear, for the sound of his own voice is more than enough to completely ignore all other sounds, especially from those beneath him.
Yet have no fear, good peasants, for just a few months down the path is the dreaded Cave of Caerbannog and the Bridge of Death, featuring the American Public as Tim the Enchanter with his infamous “3 questions” and Queen Hillary in disguise as the innocuous little bunny rabbit with the nasty big pointy teeth, as legend has it the King never finds what he is looking for.
And most certainly never will.
Richard Carnes, of Edwards, writes weekly. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.