Owing to an accelerated state of flux in my off-hours’ life, I stayed up late last evening.
I was mesmerized watching a shameless, notorious, criminally liable liar engage an intransigent communist in what sounded like a low-grade argument between two characters from a discredited fairy tale.
That these are the last two cerebrally disheveled shipwrecked survivors of the Democrat party’s invisible nomination process for president is even more stunning than Don Trump’s pending coronation.
Do you want a liar on the brink of a criminal indictment as the next occupant of the White House? Or a retired New England milkman who thinks milk should be returned to at least the middle-class and Section 8 cows?
The doddering elderly couple could have passed for two ex-wives haggling over the numerous negatives of the former target of their long-since spent emotions.
The dreaded Hilarious and the permanently shell-shocked Bern have fewer lifetime achievements between them than a toddler learning to toddle.
Between them, they are 143 years old. They have a combined 50 years in public life, 25 drab ones apiece. Their accomplishment shelves are barer than an ecdysiast at the height of her career.
Had they died on the first day of their professional sunken-chest careers, their postage stamp-sized grave markers would carry the identical message as today:
“Was she/he here? Check back later.”
Snoring his way through 25 years in the Congress, Bern, the matchless milkman from Vermont, has not attached his name to even a single piece of worthless legislation.
Since 2008, President Bill Clinton has led a six-person search team on an unrelieved daily scan of Hilarious’s unaccomplished professional life in a quest to develop boasting points should she ever want to seek office.
Eight years later, no achievements have been unearthed. Mr. Clinton said they are not surrendering to reality. “Hilarious must have done something,” he said. “We have been married for four decades.”
