Predictably, Bernie folded today. Emma Vigeland cried on the air, and it’s hard to blame her.
The election is still nearly seven months away. I’m telling you now, the Dems will lose it, and when they do, they’re going to blame Bernie Sanders individually, like they did with Hillary, and the actual left collectively, like they did when Gore lost.
They’ll be wrong again. It’s your own damn fault, DNC.
You rigged it so that the embodiment of casual corruption, Hunter’s own dad, Obama’s hatchet man, Tara Reade’s ahem alleged sexual assaulter, is currently your nominee.
If that’s not enough, he’s losing marbles by the day, and everyone knows it, and Trump is already saying it out loud.
Personally I see no way in hell that he can stay at the top of the ticket that long. There’s going to be a whole ‘nother clip of shenanigans fired off, to try and anoint a Kamala or some other drone to replace him–anybody but Sanders, anybody but a revolutionary, even the most modest of revolutionaries.
I’m not playing your game DNC. I have the bitter luxury of living in a state that still won’t play your game either, albeit it for polar opposite reasons. My little slice of the electoral pie amounts to complete irrelevance, and so I am free to vote my conscience.
Bernard my friend, I won’t be playing your game either. You’re going to jump aboard the Stooge Train now just like you did with Hillary, and ask me as your supporter to vote for Goodfriend Joe, and I’m going to say not only no (like I did last time), but hell no.
I think maybe the best thing I could do in this bad situation would be to begin quietly pushing for a write-in candidate that all the disaffected could unite behind.
I haven’t decided what the name will be yet.
Perhaps Eugene V. Debs.
Perhaps John Prine, or Leonard Cohen, or Tom Petty–something that the never-Trumpers of the right could get behind too.
Imagine what would happen if one or two or three percent of the population in each state could be persuaded to vote, not for Ralph Nader or Jill Stein, but for …
Hunter Thompson, or …
Grandma’s Ventilator.
I don’t know. I’m open to ideas; hit me up and let’s start a viral website.