Elizabeth Warren is on the way to securing the Democrat nomination, and the ensuing general election battle will be a re-run of Little Bighorn except, ironically, Sitting Bolshevik will be Custer. Trump’s going to drag her kicking and screaming and nagging, always nagging, down the trail of tears until that glorious November night when Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin and maybe Minnesota all express their reservations over sending this tiresome scold to the White Wigwam in Washington.
Oh, are you a True Conservative™ who gets the sadz at this Mohican mockery? Too bad, you sissy submissives – you have not seen the last of it. Not by a long shot. We battlecons are never going to get tired of rubbing her cheesy ethnic appropriation in her pale face, nor will Donald Trump. Soon Not-Senile Joe will be out of the way – and yeah, rickety polling aside, in part thanks to Trump’s Ukrainian briar-patch play Hairplug One is headed for the unhappy hunting grounds. And once he’s gone, the Bad Orange Man is going to start pounding Hackagawea and he’s not gonna stop until he’s secured four more years.
But it’s not moderately amusing tribe jibes that are going to do in her candidacy. Elizabeth Warren faces some other challenging obstacles on her way to the Oval Office. Foremost among them is Elizabeth Warren.
Where Kirstin Gillibrand came across as America’s First Wife, Warren comes across as that irritating middle school librarian who is constantly demanding that we all use our inside voices and who puts up posters that say “Reading Is Cool!” with a picture of the Fonz. Functionaries like that are just fine for keeping seventh graders from burning down the school and for passing out tomes so the kids can learn them their cypherin’, but grown men and women neither need nor want some National Nag pestering them to be better people. For one thing, we’re already manifestly better than the cast of weirdos, losers and pinko mutations that make up Warren’s motley base.
At least Joe Biden seems to know how to deal with normal people, or at least he did before he began his Botox’d strange-o act over the last few months. Regardless, the regular guy act was always a front – the real Joe Biden is just another DC insider who plowed the field for his ultra-achiever son Snortie to occupy a seat on some Ukrainian oligarch’s gas company at north of 50K a month when he wasn’t face-planted in a heap of Bolivia’s Best and/or working his bro’s widow.
But at least Gropey J could fake being a guy you might conceivably have a beer with. When Warren starts talking about having a beer it's enough to make you give up drinking. She makes me repelled by the thought of a cold, frosty brew – cold turkey inspired by a cold turkey. This is not a great candidate.
And she’s from Massachusetts, for Pete’s sake. For 50-plus years, the state with the Dropkick Murphy’s soundtrack has produced a non-stop series of electoral losers. Mike Dukakis? He managed to lose because someone told him he’d look butch in a tank. John Kerry. Sheesh, he managed to lose to W. Oh, and who can forget Mitt Romney? That Irish Setter-tormenting Fredocon nerd managed to lose to Candy Crowley even before he lost to Barack “I Bought a Mansion by the Seashore Because Climate Change Is a Hoax” Obama. The last guy from Boston who pulled it off was JFK, but at least he had scoring with Marilyn Monroe going for him.
Maybe the Democrat base thinks that after losing with their last unlikeable shrew, the shrews are due. But Elizabeth Warren is so uniquely unlikeable to Normal Americans – you know, ones who don’t wander about blue coastal cities introducing themselves with their pronouns – that this would be a McGovernesque rout if states like California, New York and the cold one up in the corner with the maple syrup weren’t so full of idiots. The fight is going to come down to a handful of states that liberals typically fly over and that are filled with people liberals despise. You know, the people who actually do the work that keeps us warm, fed and safe…the enemies of the Democrat Party.
It says a lot that the fact Big Chief Warren taught at Harvard – albeit solely because of her Apache-at scam – is not the thing that will alienate her most from Midwestern voters. It’s her insane catering to the commie contingent in her midst. It’s one thing to try to get to the left of the Democrat field during the primaries; it’s another to get to the left of the Democrat field during the primaries when you’re running against Bernie Sanders.
Open borders? Check.
Confiscate your guns? Check.
Raise your taxes? Check.
Take your doctor? Check.
Abortion until the kid can draw his Social Security? Check.
These are not the positions a serious contender outside of a Brooklyn coffeehouse or an Ivy league faculty lounge adopts.
And then there’s her promise to ban fracking. Hear that, all you voters in Western PA and thereabouts? Because she chose the weird weather cultists over you, you get to tell your families that instead of your six-figure jobs helping America be energy independent you all get to be impoverished again. But hey, ruining your lives is a small price to pay for the smug satisfaction our elite liberal betters will get knowing they pleased Gaia’s pig-tailed earthy manifestation Greta Thunberg.
Hmmmm. Your livelihoods or the catering to the obsessions of a Swedish 16-year-old? Hey, for Liz Warren that’s an easy call! Better learn to code!
Actually, don’t bother. Elizabeth Warren may get nominated – in fact, it looks like she will. But when she and her running mate – be it the gun-grabbing furry, Willie Brown’s fling or Mayor Liberal Lithgow from Footloose, Indiana – enter the general, Trump will be waiting.
He’s got money, oodles of it.
He’s got results, among them that we all have more money (and jobs and no new wars).
And he’s got the killer instinct to scalp the competition.
Let’s hope that for the sake of a viable two-party system, this will be the Democrat Party’s radical left’s last stand.
If you want to read a vivid account of what happens if America is dumb enough to elect Karla Marx president, check out my action-packed yet hilarious novels, People's Republic, Indian Country and Wildfire They are the kind of books that make ex-Weekly Standard writers cry, but then so do spiders, clowns and seeing people do push-ups. Ahoy!
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