I checked under my bed for enemies this morning, but all I found were a couple of dust bunnies and a chew toy abandoned by the dog. I heaved a sigh of relief for having made it through the night alive, but I know it’s only a matter of time.

            After 9/11, and more recently, after Paris and San Bernardino, I knew there were people out there who would do me harm, given the chance, but I had no conception of the scope of the danger until I started following the debates between those nice Republicans running for president.

            I know now, thanks to the candidates, that the threats to my personal safety come in all shapes and sizes. I used to be just concerned and watchful, but now I am bordering on the hysterical. Being liberated from all rationality, not to mention reality, I am wallowing in fear with my fellow citizens–which seems to be where we are supposed to be if the candidates are to sweep in and save us.

            I have come to understand that terrorism is like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get, but in this case you know it isn’t going to be good. One morning soon, I am going to look under my bed and find a Mexican, or a Muslim, or someone from the government, or a liberal lurking in the dark recesses, ready to send my soul to perdition.

            I never used to be this afraid. I realize now it is my patriotic duty to be petrified.

            That nice Mr. Trump. He’s going to build me a wall to keep me safe. The walls built by Hadrian and the Chinese didn’t work out too well, but I have faith in The Donald. It will be a great wall. The best wall ever built. We’ll be surprised by just how wonderful a wall it is. As a bonus, the Mexicans are going to pay for it. Despite the fact they are all rapists and drug dealers, Mr. Trump says he has some good friends among them who will see that the job gets done. The Donald has good friends in the strangest places—including the Kremlin.

            What a guy!

            While Mr. Trump is protecting us from the hoards below our southern border, his good friend Ted Cruz will keep us safe from the radical Islamic jihadists. Poor Ted. Such sad eyes. Looks like a puppy whose bone has been repossessed by the pet store. Knows what to do though. Carpet bomb the camel jockeys until the sand glows. Of course, in a carpet bombing scenario, the bombs don’t distinguish between fighters and non-fighters, or between jihadists and non-combatant women and children. I don’t know how much collateral damage will be necessary before the ground achieves an acceptable level of iridescence, but as Napoleon put it, “you have to break eggs to make omelets.” I’m sure those among the world’s 1.6 billion Muslims who survive the chastisement will find that a comfort, and will forgive and forget the indiscriminate slaughter of the innocents within a generation or two, or maybe three, or maybe never. Maybe not. After all, they’re still miffed about the Crusades.

            Marco Rubio may look like an aging former boy band singer, but he is more than capable of handling debate chores with any liberal—just ask him. He has a big advantage over his fellow candidates in that he can talk so fast that you either feel rushed into voting for him, or rushed into buying a used car from him.

            If it’s a man from the government hiding under my bed, Rand Paul would be my obvious champion. After all, if elected, he wants a government so small you can’t see it. Odds are he would simply furlough the government guys and turn the presidency into a part-time gig. Consequently, there wouldn’t be any government for the guy to be from.

            Carly Fiorina will advance the public interest by standing on the sidelines assessing the situation, and opining that whatever the issue, or the question, the answer is she wants to take America back. Take it back from whom is never explained, but the code is easily understood by those in the know.

            Dr. Carson will look bemused. Jeb will look like he would rather be somewhere, anywhere, else.

            The balance of candidates will form a Greek chorus, sound ominous, and try to explain to the electorate what the heck is going on. From time to time, they will break out into patriotic airs with the survivors from the kiddie table singing backup, and with accompaniment by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and/or the Boston Pops.

            Obviously I am stretching things a bit (okay, a lot), but I am doing so to make a point.

            All of these folks are trying to generate support for their respective candidacies. 

            It is far easier to generate support by appealing to emotion rather than to reason or logic. Emotion does not need to be convinced. It is predisposed to be convinced. The candidates know it, and what they are selling is intended to gin up emotions to a fever pitch for their own political benefit. Be afraid, be very afraid, but don’t despair, because I am here to keep you safe from all threats, real—or even imagined.

            Just because they are selling it doesn’t mean Americans should be buying it.

            Don’t get me wrong, there are those out there who would do us harm. We must take all steps necessary to protect the homeland. But those steps should not be taken because of fear or panic. Fear needs be controlled, not encouraged. Panic needs to be resisted, not embraced.

            Hopefully, someone will emerge as an adult in this presidential race, if not from this crop of hopefuls, then maybe from the other side of the political fence.

            These are challenging times. We need a president willing to meet the challenge, not exploit it for political advantage.