The Bern ardently desires the nomination. Kamala is all in herself. Mayor Pete, High Cheekbones, and most of the running-for-the-heck-of-its really want it, too…but does Sleepy Joe? I’m am still unconvinced at this relatively advanced stage of the primary process that Biden wants the presidency anymore than my third grader wants to see Godzilla: King of the Monsters this next weekend. His underwhelming schedule, crowd sizes, and energy output foreshadow the looming letdown awaiting his most ardent backers, where they truly exist, if any really do…

In the seemingly daily recurrence of ripe and juicy American political irony, the recent retconning of Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell by the Left as Death Incarnate…admiringly referred to as the Bluegrass Gamera in this assuredly unsafe space…is about to be particularly potent when the first scything of 2020 Democrat also-rans comes in a couple weeks before their first debate. I think Graveyard Mitch should ask senators to regale returning members from the campaign trail with “Hello Goodbye” or “Welcome Back, Kotter” a cappella-style.

The asinine establishment notion that the europhile centre-right, embodied by the departing UK PM Theresa May, the ever-diminishing German Chancellor Merkel, and the embattled French President Macron, will be somehow reinvigorated politically by bowing to the Greens and Socialists in Brussels after this past weekend’s EU elections is outright laughable. The bitter end of Continental conservatism is at hand. If only the aforementioned three had bet on DJT instead of his foes back in 2017. Oh well. It’s hard to find good political advisers that know history and will scan for droids. Especially if you and your crew are all nanny superstate cronies.