When Hillary Clinton talks, no matter how inspirational her script, she slips into Frank Drebin mode:
I want a world where Frank Jr, and all Frank Jrs can sit under a shady tree, breathe the air, swim in the ocean, and go into a 7-Eleven without an interpreter. I want a world where I can eat a sea otter without getting sick, where the Democrats put somebody forward worth voting for.
Still, her victory speech moves without a hitch from interest-free college tuition to filling in the Nino Scalia seat on the Supreme Court. She wants kindness, not bluster. I feel nothing about her expected victories in Florida and North Carolina other than she’s gonna need to swing her arms at the podium with greater vehemence to overcome the novelty of a plutocrat who offers wine and steak from the podium. The numbers are on her side, and the unlikely possibility the FBI frogmarches her to a federal court in fulfillment of Steve Hayes and Charles Krauthammer’s prophecies aside, she will face Donald Trump in August.
Meanwhile the man whose obituaries were written weeks ago collapsed on swampland reclaimed from an Everglades that he doesn’t believe in saving because scientists, he says, don’t agree on climate change. Don’t give in to fear, don’t give in to hysteria, said the junior senator from Florida, a supporter of torture, bombing Syrians for no reason, and the man who sprinted away from his own immigration bill as if it were a homosexual and illegal. John Kasich, the Gingrich acolyte whom Nicole Wallace dubbed a Happy Warrior an hour ago (was Hubert Humphrey happy as LBJ’s vice?), won Ohio as expected, shoring up his ability to become a kingmaker at the convention. As a friend pointed out, I’m not sure my spirits can take Clinton vs Trump palaver for the next few months, let alone Clinton for the next few years. Other than switching my party affiliation, though, I’ve donated money and time. Let’s flip the Senate and get to ramming before the 2020 census
Humanizing The Vacuum 