It’s over.
Go home.
The winner of the Democratic Primary, an intelligent man, a sweet man, the kind you want in front of you in the supermarket, the kind you introduce to Mama, the pure-heart who yawned indifferently at genocide, the campaign-finance reformer who spent eleven million dollars to knock New Hampshire voters into Bidenesque submission, is your Democratic candidate.
The winner of the Republican Primary, a nepotistic, weird-grinning bobble-head, sat quietly during the genocide as well. He then watched his country get dragged into war with Iran while sipping Earl Grey and murmuring about inflation while his party’s leaders had done everything possible to manufacture that very same inflation.
While having his face massaged with cucumbers and honey to the sound Jessica Fletcher on TV solving a crime from the ’80s (those years when his political ideology was dripped into his ear by his dad’s friends over at MKUltra), he watched his party’s leader attempting to bribe New Hampshire voters with five thousand dollars each if his party wins. And the Republican champion said nothing. With democracy suffocating, he said nothing.
There are no more political leaders. They have been drummed out of the business by bucket-loads of cash that you can’t even look at without buying a ticket.
There is a worse candidate here. I am a Democrat and there is a reason. But I won’t tell anyone who to vote for. When the least worse candidate for United States Senate is covered in blood and oil money, I shut the hell up.
Just clowns.
The game is over.
Go home.
Smoke ’em if you got ’em.
If you are depressed, that is the appropriate response. Not feeling that way is a sign of either ignorance or apathy. Both of which will send you to the psyche ward when AI kicks in.
Be depressed for a minute, then start again.
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