“Glad to be out for convo and the coldest beer,” exclaimed Semple Jenkins, seated next to Boyd at their favorite bar. “Heat wave had me on lock and the pundits working my last nerve. I mean, the president has an easy way to up his verbal performance, but they all playing past it. You can see that, right John?” The barkeep stopped wiping the counter with his rag and raised his hands while his face flashed a puzzled expression. “Well, I know Boyd got it,” continued Semple, baiting his best friend.
Boyd offered dutifully, “Well, what is it, Semple? I fail to see the path to improvement. Moreover, given all the criticism of his poor public appearances, he appears closer to dropping his reelection bid than resolving his cognitive and rhetorical issues. He can’t keep calling people by the wrong name.”
“That ain’t no big thing. A woman called me by the wrong name. No big deal. The main thing is that he got to lie better---or maybe just lie more.”
“Mendacity?” asked Boyd in amazement. “I don’t see how that helps.” He settled in over his drink.
“It’s quite obvious, Boyd. He trailing a liar in the polls. The dude don’t have a truth switch in his brain. When I read coverage of the debate, they said Trump told at least 30 lies, and they were still checking. They had Biden down for 9 lies. That’s too big a gap. He got to step up because his opponent ain’t backing up. Can’t keep losing 30-9.”
“That’s quite cynical.”
“It’s not a sin at all. Besides, he stumbling too much trying to tell the truth. I don’t have the proof for this, at least not yet, but I am willing to bet that when Biden is lying his speech is smoother. So lie more, smooth out the speech, kill the noise from the pundits, get his shaky party members off his case, and sail into a second term. Put a top cabinet around you and get as old as you want. But it all starts with effective lying,” emphasized Semple as he hoisted his glass.”
Boyd knew Semple well, but this was a bit much. He bent over, placed his right elbow on the counter, and rubbed his temple for a few moments before he spoke again. Meanwhile, Semple was hallway through his beer. Then Boyd broke into a smile and also broke the silence. “I know you, Semple. You have wild theories, but even you cannot mean all this.”
“I mean every word, my friend.”
“So, you are saying there is no privileged space for the truth.”
“Of course there is---in a truth country.”
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