The entire first hour was devoted to political gossip–who’s ahead, who can win, who said something not nice. Harping on remarks made by Obama’s pastor several years ago, George Stephanopoulos probed whether Obama could win an election after having worshiped at church where that (non-Caucasian) pastor had once held forth. Obama should have said, “George I know you’re not in favor of racial harmony, but I am, and if you keep beating this drum I’m gonna call you and your network out as promoters of racial conflict.”

I implored my television set repeatedly during the first hour to make one of the candidates answer a vapid question with this question: “Charlie, your network broke a story this week that our president and vice-president explicitly authorized torture, and you’re asking about this crap?” Neither Tweedledee nor Tweedledum ever asked about torture.

Eventually, Obama took George Stephanopoulos to task, but George, whose hair looked nice, was unabashed. George asked whether Obama’s pastor is as patriotic as Obama. Obama said, “He was a Marine, George.” Obama could have said, “I don’t know whether he’s as patriotic as me, but he’s certainly more patriotic than either of you two blowhards, a career civilian and a draft-dodging twit.”

Stephanopoulos asked about an Iranian attack on Israel, and Obama should have reminded him that there never has been such an attack, and why aren’t we talking about bad things that actually are happening, instead of bad things that aren’t happening.

Gibson asked during the second hour about income tax policy, especially how tough things might get for people making over $100,000 a year, and he stayed on that subject for at least 15 minutes. In spite of his best efforts to seem concerned on behalf of the tiny minority of Americans who make a hundred grand a year, it looked for all the world as if Gibson, who makes about $25,000 a day, was whining over the possible effect of a Democrat on his personal tax liability.

How do these two guys maintain their dignity through a broadcast like this? A pretty pair of prostitutes, preening and prattling, exhibiting themselves as utterly unprofessional and unprincipled, characters in a fiction. How do they face their families and friends after such a spectacle? Maybe they just buy them off.