The Great Debate

I decided to wait a couple of days before commenting on the June 27, Trump-Biden debate. I wanted the post-debate furor to calm down a bit. 

Mind you, I, as a strong Trump supporter, had serious misgivings about the debate, and feared Trump had let his cockiness lead him into a trap. Trump, it seemed, hastily had agreed to every condition laid down by the Biden camp and CNN--well, I repeat myself: The date; no audience; a mute button switch in the hands of CNN's wildly anti-Trump moderators, who had in the recent past compared Trump to Hitler and had promoted a variety of anti-Trump hoaxes, e.g., Russia collusion, denying the authenticity of the Hunter laptop, pushing the "inject" bleach story, the "suckers and losers" and the "fine people on both sides" canards. CNN spent the typical news day blasting Trump as a "convicted felon," and heaping every possible insult on him, as you all know too well. No way, I thought, could Trump walk out alive politically.  

Well, guess what? Trump proved me wrong, again. Almost every time ever since he rode down that escalator in Trump Tower  in 2015, to announce his candidacy, Trump has shown himself as a master politician with an almost unerring sense of the political game. He, however, did let himself get trapped in a no-win situation by the Covid scam, but I have dealt with that at length elsewhere and won't go over it again. I have no doubt that the 2020 election was stolen from Trump by a combination of overt electoral fraud, and a massive Federal-high tech censorship operation, and, as we have seen lately, the use of the DOJ as a political weapon. But, back to the debate.

Let me start by saying that the Diplowife (ret) did not want to see the debate, as it made her "too nervous." She worried as did I, see above, that Trump had fallen into a trap laid by the sort of crafty South Pacific cannibals who had eaten Uncle Bosie. So my three dogs and I sat in the den in our Wilmington, North Carolina house to watch the debate, while the Diplowife (ret) locked herself in another room downstairs to watch Netflix. The minute, however, I saw Biden walk haltingly out on stage with his signature weird gait presumably produced by those no-fall swim fins he wears as shoes, and timidly point at the podium, into my head popped a snippet from the theme from an old TV show, "Petticoat Junction":

                                And there's Uncle Joe/

                                          He's amovin' kinda slow/

                                          At the Junction . . .

Right there, I knew it had ended, game over. I started frantically calling my wife to come upstairs, she would miss a great and rare spectacle of live TV. "Biden is finished!" I kept shouting before he had said a word. Then Trump walked onto the stage, like a great hungry Kodiak bear looking for food along the river bank. It now would prove just a matter of time; the Delaware salmon would get eaten. 

This time I was right. 

Within minutes, it became an embarrassing blow-out. I won't go over it all. You've seen it. Biden had spent days sequestered with 16 advisors at Camp David prepping for the event. His clearly feeble brain had been pumped full of a jumble of facts, one-liners, ready ripostes, and words, lots of words, lots of them. He overloaded; he stumbled; he froze; he stared vacantly into the distance, away from Trump. I expected to see a spinning circle on his chest with the words, "Buffering, Buffering, Buffering."  Trump apparently had prepared out on the streets and fields campaigning, holding his signature mass rallies. He looked energetic, fresh, and relaxed; the contrast with the doddering Biden could not have proven more stark. The split screen was devastating for Biden, who had a vacant, almost frightened look, as though he feared his turn would come up. When it did, his answers made no sense or were just, no other way to put it, lies, delivered in a raspy voice, hard to hear much less understand, and then he would switch into angry old man mode, shouting incoherently. The Diplowife (ret) came by in the middle, and was horrified. She said what I have heard many others say since, "I almost feel sorry for Biden."

Let me take that up. Feel sorry for Biden? Nope. Not one bit. For the past fifty years, Biden has been one of the most disgusting, unprincipled politicians on the American scene. Look up his performance on the Clarence Thomas hearings, for example. He stole years' worth of classified documents, tried to peddle them to a ghost writer, participated in his crack head son's shady businesses, took money from foreign businesses and governments, and was clearly a racist and an abuser of women, and his daughter. He is a borderline pedo. He tanked his first run for the Presidency when he plagiarized an entire speech from, of all people, Neil Kinnock (Ugh!) He has been a serial fabulist making up wild Walter Mitty-type stories about his past, e.g., arrested on his way to see Mandela, taking on Cornpop. He has lied repeatedly about his first wife's death, and that of his son, Beau. More important, he has been a disaster as President, and has caused our nation, and the West serious, perhaps irreparable harm. He has destabilized the Middle East; led Putin to invade Ukraine; encouraged Iran and its proxies to seek nuclear weapons and increase their global terror campaign; he has opened our border and our society to a flood of millions of illegal aliens from all over the world, murders, rapes, and other mayhem have followed. Feel sorry for him? Hardly. 

What will be the consequences? I don't know. Will it all blow over, and the abysmal Biden performance be forgotten? Will he make it to November? Lots of questions. Let me know if you have the answers.