Can we all agree now that Joe Biden is not going to be the Democrat nominee next year?
I’m becoming more convinced that CO was prescient when he predicted several months ago that the Dem nominee and likely next prez (shudder) is going to be Ken Doll Newsom.
I don’t know what kind of crystal ball our fearless leader has, but I’ve got a crystal brain (hat tip to Adam Carolla) and a purple wizard hat that I occasionally take out of its climate-controlled glass case when I need to foretell the future.
But I needed neither my crystal brain nor my wizard hat to see the future for our Cadaver in Chief. I only had to watch his performance in Hawaii, and a few more minutes of him being allowed to speak in public since.
I don’t want to beat a dead president, but that guy is not up for the job, if he ever was.
Sorry, the phrase I was looking for there was “beat a dead horse.”
Or was it?
Anyway, Joey Gaffes couldn’t have done worse in the wake of the Hawaii fire. First he went on vacation for a week, and when reporters asked for his thoughts on the fire, he said, “No comment.”
You want to talk about bad luck? The poor dope has uttered two coherent words this entire year, and they happened to be those disastrously callous ones. Normally, if he’d tried to say that, it would have come out as, “Na-ha kulamanna.”
And the lickspittle MSM hacks would have fallen all over themselves to tell us that “na-ha kulamanna” is native Hawaiian for “my prayers go out for the people of Hawaii, and my government will give them all the assistance they need at this tragic time.”
Then when Biden was finally shamed into going to Hawaii – interrupting a second vacation for a day and a half – he put on a tour de force of cringe.
When called on to give comfort to people whose homes have burned to the ground and who have lost loved ones, he re-told the phony story about the towering inferno that nearly devoured his home years ago. (“I remember that Steve McQueen and Paul Newman were in it, and Faye Dunaway, what a dish she was. I once fought Corn Pop for her hand in marriage. No joke.”)
Everyone knows that that story is not appropriate. Or true. He’s told it many times, embellishing it each time, in ways that make it even more offensive. His wife grabbed the cat and made it into the ’67 Corvette in the garage, and then stayed there while the almost-deadly fire raged all around her. Also, half of the house nearly collapsed. And one firefighter was almost killed fighting the blaze.
Except that the fire department called it a minor kitchen fire and put it out in 20 minutes.
But even if it had consumed his whole house, killed his cat and burned up his ‘Vette, it still wouldn’t be acceptable to tell that story to a bunch of people who have just lost loved ones, and all of their material possessions too. You KNOW that Biden’s handlers have told him to stop telling it.
But he can’t help it. Or he can’t remember it. Or he’s a narcissistic sociopath.
“Man, that ‘Vette is sweet, and it would have been a real tragedy to lose that thing. It can do zero to 60 in 2 seconds flat, even with the passenger seat crammed full of classified documents and one of Hunter’s hookers and a bunch of untraceable gold bars from the ChiComs in the trunk! You folks know what I’m talking about, with your missing kids and your burned down houses. Na-ha kulamanna, as you people say…. Who wants some ice cream?”
Biden looked even worse sitting at the event where a local was speaking about the tragedy. Biden fell into a coma, or a nap, or whatever he does when he “calls a lid” on the day’s activities at 10 a.m. Watching him slumped there with his eyes mostly closed and his mouth partly open gave me the creeps.
He looked like what a family sees when the mortician has done a horrible job, even after you told him the ceremony was going to be open casket, and you’re not going to pay his full fee!
So Biden can’t run again. Which leaves Que Mala, the only politician in the Western hemisphere less respected and more reviled than Joe Biden!
Nobody – left or right, young or old, alive or Pelosi – wants her to be answering that proverbial crisis phone call at 3:00 a.m.
No one can picture her being woken up from a dream about yellow school buses driving through a landscape of magical Venn diagrams to hear the words, “China has invaded Taiwan!” or, “A deadly virus has been discovered in several port cities on the Eastern seaboard!”
Unless that caller says, “Quick! We need someone to sexually service corrupt San Francisco Mayor Willie Brown for a shady patronage position,” everybody knows that Que Mala is not the person for that job.
(And yes, Que Mala got that job in 1994, so no, it’s not “too soon” for that joke.)
Anyway, I think we should take Biden’s likely absence on the Dem ticket next year into account. Especially if we’re considering nominating someone with very high negatives with independents, in the hope that Biden’s negatives are so high that we can still narrowly beat him.
Turning to the world of entertainment, the Burning Man festival has been a nightmare this year. I’ve never been the least bit tempted to go to some drug-and-music event with thousands of hipsters and hippies and who knows who. (I’m sure there are some cool people there too, though I don’t get it.) But given their travails now, I’m sympathetic.
First, many of the attendees were held up on a highway by their (normally) co-religionist environmental extremists, until the Paiute Tribal Rangers rode to the rescue. (I saw them open for the Rooftop Koreans in ’98, and that show was awesome!)
It turns out that the highlight of the week for many people may have been watching the Rangers go to work on the virtue-signalers blocking the road. If I can paraphrase Arnold’s reply to the question of what is best in life in the original Conan movie (and I think that I can): “To crush the protestors, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their men who identify as women.”
When the attendees finally arrived on site, they were just in time for a long, soaking rain that turned the area into a muddy hellscape. And the mud is alkaline… so that sounds great. Now one person has died, and organizers have told attendees that they might not be able to drive out for a while yet.
Still, I’d rather be there than at the Democrat National Convention. But this year, it’s a closer call than usual.
Biden delenda est! … then maybe Newsom…
“Dr.” Jill Biden/Toonces, Joe Biden’s Corvette-Driving Cat, 2024!
Martin Simpson 