Campaign 2024 is now down to the final six weeks – and with every passing day, the ineluctable evanescence of Harris and irreversible ascent of Trump becomes increasingly pronounced and prodigious.
First, let’s deal with Kamala Harris, the woman who has somehow managed to tramp through life leaving no footprints. Oh yes, she has admittedly managed to assume the loftiest of postings (we’ll get to that in a moment). But, in each case, she promptly sat on her ample derriere and did little, less, or nothing).
Time after time and again, the ubiquitous and inept Ms Harris became the woman who wasn’t there, the living embodiment of Hughes Mearns wonderful little poem,Antigonish:
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
Oh, how I wish he'd go away.
She has become the female incarnation ofBeing There’sentirely vacuous Chauncey Gardiner – the man who when asked a weighty question concerning how to “stimulate growth through temporary incentives,” inanely replied:
“Yes. In the garden, growth has it seasons. First comes spring and summer, but then we have fall and winter. And then we get spring and summer again.”
(Sound much like BJ’s invariable word salads? You bet it does!)
Whereupon, I might add, Chauncey’s decumbent inquisitors, much like today’s lickspittle media, embraced the vapid response as the height of enduring wisdom. As in the media suck-ups’ inevitable, spellbound reciprocation to BJ’s pre-programed recitation in response to their each and every query: “Well, okay, I was born into a middle-class family…”
The problem Kamalanow has, of course, is that the American people are, to use the vernacular, ontoher lifelong scam. They now know -- despite the lickspittle media’s protestation, misrepresentations, and apotheosization -- that Chauncey Harris is an empty pantsuit. That she is, indeed, the woman who isn’t there, never has been, and never will be.
In her entire life, Kamala Harris has achieved nothing of any real moment -- except, of course, as she told her phony friend Oprah, for helping her parents have a nice lawn in their middle class home. And somehow, she has convinced herself that ridding the yard of crabgrass is a key qualification for sashaying into the Oval Office.
Convinced herself, that is, but not the American people. For their part, the American people have now figured out that Ms Harris has built an entire political resume (political, not real world; never, she did not work at McDonalds, where she ironically claims that she “did the cashier”) on nothing more than pigmentation and genitalia.
In sum: Had Kamala Harris been born with while skin and male paraphernalia, she really would be working at McDonalds right now, or, perhaps, checking your receipts as you exit Walmart. The American people, of all races, colors, and creeds, have now rightly discerned that Kamala Harris is nothing more than a once-pretty face. And hence, they are applying the final verse of Mr. Mearns delightful little ditty:
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door.
Now, briefly, as to Donald Trump.,,
At this point, despite all of the lickspittle media’s increasingly bizarre prevarications and the corrupt Harris-Biden regime’s bogus lawfare persecutions, Donald J. Trump is still standing straight and tall. The American people know him. And they like him.
And if the CIA doesn’t, at last, succeed in assassinating him (after three – yes,three,unsuccessful attempts; don’t forget they sabotaged his plane), he will rightly be returned to the presidency on November 5, 2024.
Now, please be forewarned that at some point over the next six weeks, The Donald will say or do something unfortunate, or perhaps even outlandish, that his obsessive detractors will pounce upon and attempt to elevate to the level of a Cardinal Sin.
But, not to worry. Those who fly the Trump flag are not going to dip it to half mast, they are not going to tog up in sackcloth and go into mourning, and they are most certainly not going to switch their allegiance to Kamala Harris (no matter how much cleavage she displays).
So, here is the Bottom Line prognostication (for which I will one day either stand up and crow, or eat one and the same:
At this point, at the inception of October, 2024, Donald Trump is on track to win by a landslide over Kamala Harris. He will carry 46 states and well over 300 electoral votes. Whereupon, Kamalawill head to the plastic surgeons for a facelift, a tummy tuck, breast implants, blepharoplasty, and colporr- (oh, never mind) surgery – and get ready for 2028. Because, frankly, that’s all the woman who wasn’t there has even known or will ever know.
And that, my friends, is a wrap.
