You're unable to find a weak point in your opponent's "I'm Rubber, You're Glue" defense.

So far, all 6 of your rebuttals have consisted solely of: "Ummm... good point."

The note your campaign manager just handed you is his letter of resignation.

You stubbed your toe on the podium, and now Tipper wants to put warning labels on you.

Every time you're about to make a devastating rebuttal, the Vice-President distracts you by jingling those shiny, shiny car keys of his.

Your strategy of demanding that your opponent "talk to the hand" doesn't work nearly as well as it did on Jerry Springer.

You spot Dan Quayle and Admiral Stockdale pointing and laughing from the third row.

At the end, your wife French kisses your opponent.

Your plan to gain confidence by picturing the audience in their underwear goes horribly awry when Strom Thurmond arrives.

Submitted by Bob Kimball