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Assault on America, Day 595: Joe ‘n Kamala, Day 2, plus satirical look at Biden’s last VP vet

Night Two DNC
Night two of the 2020 Democrat convention was another overly contrived infomercial. If this bores you, skip to the satire at the end of the first segment.


Okay, let’s review.

Imagine you’re a Democrat or Republican convention planner and you receive the news -- months ago -- that your years of dotting i’s and crossing t’s will all come to naught because the party poohbahs deemed the threat from the Chinese Communist Party (or Wuhan, if you prefer) virus was just too grave to risk hosting thousands -- or even hundreds -- of people in person. In essence, you’re left with an empty arena from which to do all the “normal” convention “stuff” such as nominating a candidate, relentlessly bashing the other side and hopefully spotlighting the stars in your political line-up.

Not only that, you’re forced to fill four evenings’ worth of airtime, needing to feed a media-hungry public something edible and delicious at the same time. What to do? Have the candidates and politicians speak as normal to empty rooms? Pipe in crowd noise (like Major League Baseball)? Run great speeches from the past? Have Barack Obama do a stand-up comedy routine? Have Joe Biden give shoulders massaging lessons? Ask Kamala Harris to share pointers on how to maintain a perpetual, phony smile?

Such was the challenge on the second day of the ongoing Democrat National Convention. The theme for DNC night two was “Leadership Matters” which was curious from the outset considering Grampa Joe Biden’s never really led anything, save for high-profile “high tech lynching(s)” of Republican Supreme Court nominees. Biden is so old and out-of-it I wouldn’t trust him to lead a girl scout troop (for obvious reasons) in a campout.

But if you’re a Democrat and all you have is a 77-year-old lifer swamp creature who’s gaffe prone, frequently cranky when challenged and badly in need of a new infusion of talent (that isn’t red communist or openly socialist), then you demonize the current president to the nth degree and find other “leadership” themes to highlight. “What can we do?” How about blaming a worldwide, Chinese based pandemic on the “leader” of the free world? Then we can talk about the Post Office, voter suppression and racism!

It all (nauseatingly) happened again on Tuesday evening. Like in the movie “Groundhog Day”, the second iteration of Democrat fantasy-land was (almost) the same as the first. The “infomercial” quality of Monday night was just as evident the evening after, but perhaps with a few (slightly) more interesting product pushers.

There were the usual citizen testimonials, perhaps remarkable when the programs first start but then seem to blend together after a while. If anything, Fox News’s Tucker Carlson stole the show during his usual 8 o’clock eastern slot while commenting on now-nominee Joe Biden’s interview with rap “singer” Cardi B, whose song “W.A.P.” is number one on the charts. This is the man you want to lead the country, who “cares” about your children?

Rather than delineate the entire program, I’ll focus on a few low-lights. The Democrat powers-that-be rolled out a couple former presidents on Tuesday. No, not the “big O”, who’s slot is tonight. It was Jimmy Carter’s turn to mumble a few words, along with wife Rosalynn. The only thing the couple said that was notable was how they knew Joe Biden back in the days. A good thing? Probably not, considering the Plains, GA peanut farmer left town almost 40 years ago.

Then there was gigantic bulbous nose Bill Clinton who embarrassingly blubbered on about how Donald Trump didn’t respond to the COVID-19 crisis, said “It is what it is” (which was repeated over and over on Tuesday night) and concluded his few minutes with, “[In] Joe Biden's America, where we all live and work together. It's a clear choice. And the future of our country is riding on it.”

I agreed with the last point. Wow, the choice is becoming clearer and clearer! I don’t know how much the Democrat telethon/informercial is raising, but it’s got to be doing wonders for Donald Trump’s campaign chest.

ALS-afflicted liberal activist Ady Barkan was definitely a highlight/lowlight in Tuesday’s program. The wheelchair bound universal healthcare pusher clearly is in the latter stages of the disease. It’s only human to have compassion for the man…but not necessarily his message. Barkan used his platform to savage President Trump and Republicans for trying to do-away with Obamacare. Yeah, like the hopelessly mislabeled Affordable Care Act prolonged his life or something. Shameful grandstanding, that’s what it is.

I actually liked the way the DNC did the rollcall of states, going from state-to-state and letting locals cast their delegates (a lot of them for Bernie Sanders, whose nomination AOC seconded!) for the (not!) next president of the United States, Joe Biden! It was the one convention aspect that was better than the boring, drawn-out typical theater in a big arena. Kudos, Democrats!

When they were finished, Grampa Joe accepted the nomination in a school library. Why the heck were he and Jill not wearing masks? They were just holding them. Enquiring minds want to know!

In order to bring the #NeverTrump contingent into the program on day two, Democrats threw together a syrupy “tribute” to John McCain. Gee, the “maverick” Republican was good chums with Grampa Joe! They had backyard barbecues together! But then again, the two spent decades working inside the world’s biggest elitist social club (otherwise known as the U.S. Senate), so eventually everyone gets to know each other, no matter how heinous!

In law school, each first-year section had about 90 students (there were 3 sections). By the end of those months, we knew everyone’s name, and to a large extent, their business. Think about spending twenty or thirty years in the same place with the same people. No wonder they put their beliefs aside to scarf hotdogs and potato salad together from time-to-time. Does it make them better people to legislate with someone you’ve personally palled around with? I think not. Doesn’t make sense.

“Chucky” Schumer spoke earlier… a naked pitch for a Democrat senate majority. Enough said!

Mercifully, the Tuesday night DNC program concluded with would-be first lady Jill Biden speaking in a school classroom about her husband’s compassion and greatness. Jill talked about the empty halls and rooms, as though they should be filled with happy children learning their ABC’s, but for a lack of leadership. Well, why aren’t the schools open, Jill? And if children are so precious… WHAT ABOUT ABORTION?

All throughout Jill’s and the others’ talks, one theme emerged: America needs government. That’s the main difference between Democrats and Republicans. Democrats portray people as helpless lambs who can’t survive without Uncle Sam dishing out a handout, cutting a check and administering medicine. Republicans, led by Trump, emphasize the greatness of the American ideal, the “Shining city on a hill” Reagan spoke so eloquently about.

It definitely is a difference in worldviews. And Bill Clinton was right, there’s a whopper of a choice coming up. Democrats are helping us make it!  

How Joe Biden (possibly) settled for Kamala Harris as his VP choice

Since Democrats are feeding Americans a slickly produced “infomercial” theatrical production, here’s a satirical look at the final hours in Grampa Joe Biden’s VP vetting conundrum:

“Morning, Joe, ready for your big day?”

Democrat nominee-to-be Joe Biden’s personal caretaker cheerfully said to the 77-year-old mentally faltering party standard-bearer a couple hours after sunrise in Delaware last week. The woman noticed the much older man had nodded off sitting at his desk and couldn’t tell whether he’d been there only an hour or all night, since the pool of drool the candidate’s mug was typically immersed in was considerably smaller this time.

Biden slowly raised his head and blinked a few times, trying to jumpstart his brain and respond to stimuli he wasn’t used to receiving, having hidden in his basement bunker for five straight months of days and nights (and only a token few journeys outside the walls). Joe looked out the small window positioned under the room’s ceiling and saw what he thought was the great big ball ‘o helium and hydrogen in the background, already high in the sky on a summer break of day.

‘I miss being able to go for a solitary morning walk,’ Biden thought to himself, once again questioning why the Democrat elites had begged him so earnestly to run for president two years ago, long before anyone had heard of the campaign-salvaging Chinese virus. ‘I could’ve just retired after eight years as the Big O’s righthand man and been very happy hangin’ here at home upgrading my bug collection and arranging stamps in a book. Dang, those things have gotten pricey, haven’t they? 55 cents for a stamp? I remember when it was 3 cents. But then again, after having worked in the DC swamp all my life, I’ve never personally mailed a letter.’

The caretaker saw how Joe was once again conducting a conversation with himself and didn’t wish to interrupt, but since the candidate had mentioned he was planning to announce his running mate that morning, he'd better get a gander at a letter that’d just arrived from a hundred black men who wanted to tell him something. Gently moving the paper towards Biden, she formed his hands around its edges and prepared to back away.

“Dang-it! You know dang well I can’t see worth malarkey without my reading glasses!” the candidate barked at the cowering woman. The aide humbly apologized and dug through a desk drawer hoping to find the only pair Biden hadn’t yet misplaced somewhere in the house, his short-term memory eroded to the spine. “Here ya go, Joe.” Warmly patting him on the top of his head, she silently slipped to the background.

The Democrat nominee squinted to see who the letter was from and ran his thumb over the list of signatures at the bottom, recognizing Van Jones, Sean “Diddy” Combs and that radio guy he’d told “You ain’t black” if dark-skinned people even considered voting for the heinous white supremacist-coddling Donald Trump. “Charlamagne tha God, that’s a heckuva great name. I wonder what I’d call myself if I had a radio show all my own?” Grampa Joe asked to the now empty room.

Whatever. Biden’s moment of gratification subsided once he read what the hip dudes had written. “For too long Black women have been asked to do everything from rally the troops to risk their lives for the Democratic Party with no acknowledgment, no respect, no visibility, and certainly not enough support. Failing to select a Black woman in 2020 means you will lose the election. ... We don't want to choose between the lesser of two evils and we don't want to vote for the devil we know versus the devil we don't because we are tired of voting for devils — period.”

“Devils? Devils?” Biden wondered aloud, his voice slicing through the stagnant air. He was familiar with the New Jersey hockey team and the Arizona State and Duke mascots but never thought anyone would have the audacity to label his former boss a “devil.” Surely they must be mistaken, having sent this letter that sounds a lot like a ransom note to a guy who’d dutifully walked two steps behind Obama all that time, wiping his boots whenever they got a speck of mud on them. Was the first black president really akin to Satan? And what about Hillary Clinton? I’ve always had a secret nickname for her -- “La Diabla” -- but no one else knows it.

If they’re tired of voting for “devils,” Joe thought, then if I don’t choose a black woman for my VP, what would it make me, “El Diablo”???? That’s a Latin American dictator, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s just a guy who cancels your favorite dinner at the annual Thanksgiving family gathering every year?

Right then it hit him like a broadside from an 18th century tall sail frigate. “If I don’t tap a black gal for my running mate, I’m gonna lose the liberal black vote, and everyone knows Democrats can’t win donkey squat without pandering to those people! You know, the “junkies”! I called Barack Obama ‘clean’ and ‘articulate’ and ‘bright’ and got away with it, but this ain’t 2007 anymore.”

Starting to hyperventilate in panic, Biden ripped out a piece of crumpled notebook paper from his desk that had “SHORT LIST” printed in big, bold, hand-scribbled letters and noticed that it contained a half dozen names, women who his vetting team had given a thorough-once over and received the establishment’s stamp of approval. It was all up to him from that point on.

Even someone as dimwitted and senile as Biden recognized that the top six monikers had nothing to do with color schemes. They were (almost) all pale as a banshee. Joe read the names to himself: “Elizabeth ‘Pocahontas’ Warren; Amy Klobuchar… but didn’t she take herself out of the running? Gretchen Whitmer. She’s a cutie, isn’t she? Michelle Lujan Grisham, she’s Hispanic, not black. Nancy Pelosi… wow, I don’t remember that one. And Hillary Clinton… what? I was supposed to choose her? Who ordered that?”

Biden nearly regurgitated a chunk of muffin he’d scarfed in the middle of the night, complaining as always that they never give him enough to eat and his acid reflux had been particularly stifling whenever he consumed anything spicier than bland, butter-less white rice. ‘It sucks getting old,’ he thought. ‘Everyone treats you like a toddler yet whenever you ask for a pacifier, they hand you a shot of alcohol instead. I could sure use one now, even if I don’t drink.’  

Taking a second glance at the paper, Joe perceived one name below the top contenders with a warning attached: “If all else fails, choose Kamala Harris as a last resort. But you better be desperate!

Grampa Joe wiped a tear from his eye as he realized he could no longer select his dream woman -- well, his dream politician woman. All along the vetting committee pored over files of this and that candidate -- he preferred to call them “contestants,” like in a beauty pageant -- but never in his wildest dreams did he contemplate he wouldn’t be allowed to call Warren for the position. Everyone else had been so mean and condescending to him during those horrible debates, but Liz always came up to him afterwards and invited him to meet at the family teepee for some porridge and a little stress-free chit-chat.

She would’ve been a great running mate, he pondered. I’ll give her a personal ring to tell her the bad news. Biden smiled as he heard Warren’s shrill voice through the speaker. “Wow, Joe, I wasn’t expecting your call so soon!” the Massachusetts faux Native American said excitedly. “Great to know you picked me. I’ll do it! I swear I will! And we’ll make Trump sorry he ever rode down that rich guy escalator. Let me grab my granny glasses and we’ll hit the warpath -- I mean trail. We can really do it up, too -- slap on some war paint, perform a war dance and if that don’t work, pass around a peace pipe.”

“Liz, I didn’t pick you.” The words fell flat as soon as he uttered them, Joe frowning and barely suppressing a sob as he struggled to continue. “I was prepared to offer it to you today, but as soon as I came downstairs I received all these demands to pick an African-American woman as a replacement for you. You know, I have that #MeToo problem and then there was the George Floyd thing and with our people out in the streets shrieking about ‘justice’ and ‘awareness’ and ‘equity’ and that crapola, well, giving you the job would just get everyone riled up again. And we can’t have any more cities burning until after the election. We can only blame Trump so many times.”

“I get it, Joe,” Warren replied softly. “But the skin color thing never stopped me before. Let me go over to our pals at the FBI lab -- like in the movie ‘White Chicks’ -- and they can work-up a disguise, and I’ll be the first black, Native American, white and Asian combination since… well, Tiger Woods.”

Just as Joe was about to blurt out his stock phrase “Here’s the deal,” he heard a sound through his desk phone. Buuuzzzz. “Joe, no more waiting,” said the familiar baritone voice of Barack Obama on the two-way intercom Democrat poohbahs installed in Biden’s basement bunker for frequent occasions when Biden exhibited signs of defiance. “You gotta give little dynamo Kamala Harris a shout and pretend like she’s the one you wanted all along. I heard you talking to Liz Warren. Let ‘er down easy then get on it. I have confidence in you, bud. Bye! Off to the golf course!”

Joe did as he was instructed. Then he dialed the number he’d been provided for Kamala Harris:

(From Fox News, the actual wording of the conversation captured on video):

“Hi, hi, hi, hi I’m so sorry to keep you.” (Harris said nervously.)

“That’s alright,” Biden said. “You ready to go to work?”

“Oh my God,” [Kamala] said. “I am so ready to go to work.”

“First of all, is the answer yes?” Biden is seen asking.

“The answer is absolutely yes, Joe, and I am ready to work,” Harris is heard saying. “I am ready to do this with you, for you. I am just deeply honored and I’m very excited.” …

--It might not have actually happened this way (except for the last part, which is verbatim) but it very well could have. By promising to name a woman -- and then being intimidated into choosing a woman of color -- Grampa Joe limited his potential field to one or two realistic contenders. Now, he’s stuck with Harris, who will be exposed in the coming weeks and months as an awful choice.

And the rest is history.

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