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Originally posted at Kunstler.com
Did you notice that it took just a little bit of internal chaos to alert the Party of Chaos that maybe chaos wasn’t the greatest thing to be the party of? Something went awry the past two weeks when thousands of creamy coeds on every campus across America donned the keffiyeh and, in effect, demanded submission to history’s most notorious misogynist cult. It struck a most cacophonous chord among progressives, like Kumbaya as orchestrated by Karlheinz Stockhausen. To awaken from Wokery, you see, is a brutal shock to the brain.
And so, over the weekend every big dog in the Democratic Party’s doghouse came out barking against the current direction of the Democratic Party — that is, over an electoral cliff, lemming-style. Bill Clinton lamented at the Milken Conference that “the political rewards of grievance politics and name-calling and being negative have been so immense that nobody could give’em up. That’s what this whole shebang has come down to now.”
James Carville had a veritable nervous breakdown on X: “It’s going the wrong way, it’s not working. Everything we’re throwing is spaghetti at a wall, and none of it is sticking, me included.” Fareed Zakaria over on CNN confessed that “None of this is playing out the way I thought it would.” Gee, really?
None of them could bring themselves to actually name the doddering donkey in the room, “Joe Biden.” Nor did they dare call out the stage manager behind the old Joe-from-Scranton show, Barack Obama, not exactly coasting into his fourth term, as expected. They’re all surprised the way things are turning out. And, of course, “JB” himself did not come out of his Rehoboth Beach hidey-hole after declaring no more bullets and missiles for you, Israel, which landed amongst the Party’s donor class like a tear-gas bomb.
Hillary Clinton popped up on the Morning Joe show wearing royal purple to remind the audience that Donald Trump is another Hitler, threatening “the sanctity of the Constitution” and adding “maybe this will be our last election.” If she’s putting herself up as possible last-minute replacement for the ever more ghostly “Joe Biden,” she was not so crass as to say so. The party will have to come pleading to her on its knees, hoping she can once again muster the legions of indignant women to oppose the wicked Golden Golem of Greatness — who was, that very day, on display in a Manhattan courtroom having to endure the jibes of the paradigmatic wronged woman, porn-star Stormy Daniels.
What else have they got, really? Gavin Newsom? If Mr. Trump is Hitler, then think of Mr. Newsom as Godzilla with hair gel. Imagine what he could do to the whole USA after trashing California, as he has managed to do. Sorry to tell you, but in an election contest between Hitler and Godzilla, Hitler would probably win. It’s a rock-paper-scissors deal. Any other ringers they might throw in? The only name that ever comes up is Illinois governor JB Pritzker, who actually looks a bit like King Kong, and has certainly done a Kong-job on Chicago. And, by the way, that’s where the Democrats’ convention will happen in August. Wouldn’t it be something to see King Kong versus Godzilla there?
All of which is to say that something beyond desperation has set in amongst the Democrats, an emotion so dire that Elizabeth Kubler Ross couldn’t find a word for it on her transect of grief. They don’t know what to do at this point. They have only a few months to figure it out and there is more at stake than a mere turnover in administrative duties. The shadow of the gibbet looms in their nightmares. Their lawfare schtick was one thing, a kind of fun-and-games compared to what’s coming at them: the actual law, trials for more serious crimes than mere book-keeping errors and mis-pricing real estate valuations. Think: sedition, treason, bribery and tack on conspiracy to commit all the above.
Meanwhile, Mr. Trump provided a further shock to the awakening Woke with a Saturday evening fan meetup down-the-shore in Wildwood, New Jersey. Somewhere between eighty to a hundred-thousand voters showed up in what is said to be among the bluest states in the country. Bruce Springsteen must have been weeping into his avocado toast over in Red Bank. Then, across the Sunday morning news digests there was talk about “a landslide win,” and even more amazed chatter about RINOs and Never-Trumpers returning to the folds of the Golden Golem’s heavenly garment, as though Mr. Trump had virtually Jeezified himself through a year of tribulation.
Will the Democrats just go through the motions the next six months, awaiting execution? Naw. One way or another, they are going to jam Hillary into this psychodrama. Stay tuned for a couple of medical emergencies. First, Kamala Harris will resign on account of a sudden “health problem” that prevents her from attending to her duties. Cancer will be implied but not spelled out. “Joe Biden” will appoint HRC of the Purple Pantsuit as veep. Three weeks later, “JB” will submit his resignation for medical reasons, and nobody will need to ask why. Voila! The first woman president, she-whose-turn-has-finally-come, flies triumphantly out of the Democratic Convention in her hometown, Chicago, like Rodan the Flying Reptile emerging from the mythic volcano, cawing her battle-cry across the land. The Golden Golem answers with a roar. The great re-match is on!
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