Contrary to much speculation on the right, Democrats stuck with the fast-failing, feeble Joe Biden through their hilariously inept convention – Stop! Hey! What’s that sound! Look at this LP of my grandpa’s that I found! – and they are now well and truly stuck with him. Felonia Milhous von Pantsuit did not stagger in, waving her half-empty bottle of screw-top Trader Joe’s Chardonnay, and putsch him out of the way. Michelle stayed put in her seaside villa from which she chides us for, among other things, not taking the global warming hoax’s rising ocean threat seriously. And Kamala failed to get that box of “special” chocolates past Oldfinger’s latest food taster.
Luckily, for the Democrats, Gropey J’s speech was the greatest speech in the history of speeching, according to reliable and objective mainstream media sources whose collective reaction to the teleprompter opus collectively evoked the sin of Onan. After all, he only plagiarizes from the best. That B-Dawg managed to read from a teleprompter without drooling and concluding by yelling “Come on, fat!” was a kind of achievement, just not the impressive kind.
But that did not stop the MSNBCNN pogue’s gallery of smart people of smartness from hailing him as Cicero reborn, though Cicero ended up with his head and hands nailed to the rostra. While the 25th Amendment is a somewhat less severe fate, though the savvy observer would put nothing past his scheming sidekick, it’s his best-case scenario.
That hype is part of the problem with the Weekend at Joey’s campaign strategy, where his handlers – in cahoots with their media transcriptionists – prop up this mumbling stiff and insist that all’s well even as they wrap him in Depends and mainline him Ensure to keep him upright. It’s worked well so far, perhaps too well. They did their level best to keep a manifestly senile old pervert in the race, and darned if they haven’t pulled it off. They made it so he couldn’t be shuffled off the stage. Anytime the Democrat Cassandras behind the scenes warned, “Hey, this guy doesn’t need the Big Red Button, he needs a bib,” his handlers would point to the polls showing Biden with +10, +20, +30 points ahead of Donald Trump, though the numbers are like that only because their media pollsters massaged the numbers into the happiest ending this side of a lonely NFL owner.
They are the terrier that caught the Gran Torino – congratulations, suckers! Now there’s no getting rid of Joe van Winkle; he’s locked in when he should be locked up. His first post-speech media confab, even with Kamala right by his side, super-friendly interviewer David Muir spoon-feeding him his mush, and a shock collar under his shirt, was a disaster. The headline is that three months from now, he wants to order us into face thongs again. Huh? So many unasked follow-up questions come to mind, like “What about a guy alone hunting elk in Montana?” or “What part of the Constitution gives the president the authority to order us into cough burqas?” Biden insists he would do what the scientists tell him, and you have to wonder which scientists, since a bunch of them think this pandemic paranoia is stupid – you just have trouble finding that out since his Big Tech masters do their best to squelch dissent. Does he disagree with Dr. Fauci? Dr. Fauci insists Trump has taken all his recommendations (for better or worse). So, we should ignore Dr. Fauci now? Why does Grandpa Badfinger hate science so much?
Biden blew it. This crusty crustacean couldn’t have gotten lobbed easier pitches if he were running for the captain of a Dover pre-school nearsighted girls’ softball league, which is another office he is too senile for.
One edge that this doddering campaign had was that people had zero expectations for Hoover’s stripper-baby’s grandpa. Assuming he even shows up to debate – which is not a done deal – before the convention, if he had merely wandered out onto the stage with the President and didn’t drown in his own slobber, he would win the expectations game. Except they voided that edge with their ridiculous fawning over his ridiculous speech – my favorite part was the goofy blue checks swooning because Biden’s speechwriter cited some bumper-sticker sentiment from Kierkegaard. “Faith sees best in the dark” – oh man, that’s heavy. Like, whoa. Really sums it up, huh? I’m totally slapping that on my Prius right next to the one that says “COEXIST.”
What next? “As my favorite poet, Rumi, once wrote…?” Is he running to be elected Least Interesting Sophomore at Sarah Lawrence?
So, now the bar is raised for the debates since Kierkegaard’s fanboy is the master of rhetoric and the font of all wisdom. He can’t just come out, stand there, and win by not forgetting to zip up his fly or by foregoing groping a production assistant. He’s going to have to deal with Trump, who is as vital and focused as Biden is desiccated and lost. Sure, Joe will have the moderators Candy Crowleying for him big time, trying to cover for his incoherence and take Trump off his game. If Trump is cunning and bloodthirsty, which he is, he’ll ignore the media offensive line, blitz right at Biden, and smear him all over the field. Trump has achievements, promises he’s kept, and if you listen to his speeches (he’s back on the road with smaller crowds), he’s making more promises that he’ll keep. What’s Mr. Jill got? His theme is “I’m kind of nice, and pay no attention to the agenda of the communists pulling my strings.” He’ll raise your taxes, ban fracking, suck up to the ChiComs, let rioters run rampant, defund the cops, and try to take your guns. And the Dems’ plan has worked so well that they literally have the worst possible candidate to defend this idiotic agenda against the best and most aggressive GOP politician in decades.
As Kierkegaard might say, “Oh man, you dudes are so hosed.”
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