There is a man of noble bearing (having been born to a father who set a good example) who thinks he should also be an aristocrat (meaning in this case that he feels he and others like him should prosper whether they work for it or not; we’ll call this man “the Governor”). The Governor has a castle (We’ll call the castle “the 1st Presidential Debate”). This man is under-siege, but it’s a well-built castle in a strategic location (which we would call “the economy,” but surprisingly this turns out to be irrelevant), and the supply stores are vast because the Governor is very, very rich and knows how not pay his taxes.
But the Governor becomes overly-ambitious, and decides to meet the besieging army out on the field (which we’ll call “the 3rd Debate”).
His plan is to send his cavalry (We’ll dub this cavalry “the Romney tax plan,” though judging from the Governor’s penchant for outmoded weapons systems, we might just want to call it “the Cavalry”) on a charge against the besieging army (which we’ll say fights for a “President,” as a dynastic succession and aristocracy the likes of which the Governor fights for happen to violate both the letter and the spirit of the cherished laws of this particular country–hence the battle itself).
So the Governor sends his cavalry/tax plan/Cavalry out to meet the enemy encampment, and quickly loses most of them to the President’s hidden spike traps and camping ninjas (which we’ll call “the President’s repeated and emphatic revelation of the fact that, as is known to them both, the Governor has no plan to cut all marginal income tax rates by 1/5, make this rate cut deficit-neutral by closing tax loopholes, and avoid vastly raising taxes on the middle class simultaneously”).
Realizing too late the gravity of his mistake in listening to his Neoconservative advisers (heretofore and eternally known as “several very-familiar men and 1 woman whom are so transparently out of their depth that it would be funny they are called ‘advisers’ by the man who would be king, if only their advice weren’t under-researched with tens of thousands of lives hanging in the balance”) the Governor retreats back to his castle. Visibly-exhausted and seeing his prospects of victory slipping away from him by steady attrition, the Governor doesn’t even realize that some of the President’s ninjas (we’ll say about 5 trillion) get over the drawbridge after the Governor’s retreating cavalry, taking the gatehouse and opening the door to the body of the President’s forces (which we’ll call, I don’t know, “the President’s constant identification of the Governor’s contradictory promises on tax cuts, deficit-reduction and military spending that the Generals and Admirals don’t want”).
So here is where it stands with them: The Governor’s storehouses are overrun (much as, as it happens, the hundreds of millions of dollars spent on pro-Republican super-PACs was wasted) and the Governor is holed-up in his keep, stoically praying that he will be allowed to depart his false high ground with his dignity intact, his plans to forge an aristocratic society having been foiled both by the superior strategy and sheer numbers of the President’s foot soldiers (which is…well, literally what just happened).
This is not a fairy tale. We beheld it live, whether we marked the ebb and flow of the battle or not.