The Grand Old Party kicked off its 2020 Convention last night. Like a gnarly car accident, one could not avert their eyes from the dumpster fire, pardon me, programming.

I wish I had purchased a behind-the-scenes all-access feed for the bash. I might have overheard some of 45’s salacious comments to Jr.’s girlfriend, Kimberly Guilfoyle.

Speaking of Ms. G, did you catch her act last night? I still don’t understand what in the hell she was hyperventilating about. Granted, we’re all worried that the radical libs will tear down the fine monuments of cowardly traitors like Robby Lee, Benedict Arnold, and Judas. But, lady, take a breath.

I was shocked to see that Rep. Jim Jordan was not rocking a neon tank top, wristbands, and a protein shake. My man despises suit jackets almost as much as he abhors Speaker Pelosi.

Who’s on tap for Night Two — Vladdy Daddy Putin and Melania’s boy toy Emmanuel Macron? I have a feeling we will not be so fortunate. Instead, Eric Trump will likely drone on about his father’s successes [at suppressing votes] followed by that nob Chris Kovach, who won’t mention his support for Steve Bannon’s GoFundMe group, which earned Steve-O a shiny federal indictment.

It will be difficult to trump the uplifting messages of Night One, but I am confident in Republicans’ ability to reach new heights of fear-mongering and race-baiting.