The giant clam shell split open as a ray of bright white parted black from above. A chorus of divine devas warbled. His mightiness stepped forward, a sister saint at his side. Other sister saints heralded his arrival in poem prayer songs sung loud. Taylor Swift wept.
His awesome presence has been detailed fantastic bit by fantastic bit. To see his magnificence is to be permanently instantly impressed. But a word from him will change your life. The glint off his aviator glasses can grow whole organs back. Gold pools in his footsteps. Put your watch up to the TV screen and he will tell you the time. Mostly, however, he cares damn hard. And so does Kamala.
Eek. I am glad the convention is over. For a minute there I was failing to remember Joe Biden’s number one qualification: Not being Donald Trump. I am happy to report that Joe Biden still retains this awesome feature. In all probability Joe Biden lacks the imagination needed to justify the jailing of toddlers. I’m sold!
Under the hood is a middling corrupt, carpet-bagging, half-dead but competent Center Center politician and his newly-minted, highly ambitious female sidekick. I am convinced that Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are normal as far as the population of human beings who seek to become President of the United States are concerned. That should not be mistaken for being normal normal. Both rate slightly less than Bill Clinton on the overall weirdo meter. Not being bloviating psychopathic science deniers is an important distinction this go around.
Exigent circumstances are the only Presidential Agenda. The depression and plague have voided all other policy items for the foreseeable future. Our choice could not be more stark. It’s suicide or science.
People who voted for Trump have one last chance to redeem their immortal souls.