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Rudy Giuliani, man. What a run he’s having. Good God, I can’t remember ANYONE getting tossed through the internet’s rinse cycle like this—for more consecutive loads, with no fabric softener, no detergent, and set to HEAVY DUTY. You almost want to feel bad for him. Until he starts leaking engine chocolate milk ingredients. And then you realize that he’s not exactly a person anymore.
My grandfather is 94. I think. Like many men his age, he has started to suffer the indignities of a body breaking down. He is a man of dignity and honor and we do our best to make sure he doesn’t feel embarrassed when fluids come out of his body at the wrong time, in the wrong place. Still, it’s a sad reminder that the human vessel isn’t meant to sail forever. With the marvels of modern medicine, we have created cheat code life extensions that don’t necessarily suit everybody. At some point, we’re supposed to check out.
I like to think that God, or whoever, is up there like some standardized test proctor—standing over our desks, tapping his watch and saying “pencils DOWN.” This trickles down to our earthly realm through various signs: a minor heart attack, say, or a skull leaking squid ink during a press conference.
We have asked too much of Rudy Giuliani. At this point, he should be watching the sunset and waiting for that train to nowhere. He shouldn’t be explaining democracy under the lights of the press corps. Let the man drip in peace.