The No Prisoners, End of the Road Election
James Howard Kunstler

“It’s all projection of their own bad desires, bad actions, personal afflictions to the point where the best way to tell what they plan to do is to see what they accuse others of.” — El Gato Malo on Democrats

It’s fun to muse on the torrent of panicked, deranged texting between Democratic Convention delegates as a runaway train of malignant fates, bad choices, insane policies, delusional ideas, and feral emotion drives them to nominate a moron for president. The confusion and self-doubt must be epic. Are we really gonna do this? Is this really happening? You must imagine this is the same state of mind as, say, a car-full of drunken bridesmaids fishtailing down the highway at 70mph toward a telephone pole.

The mis-plays and subterfuges that brought them to this pass cannot be undone: the insult of letting “Joe Biden” front for a criminal blob government, the many hoaxes and the exorbitant lawfare lawlessness, the gross mismanagement of public affairs, wreckage of institutions, ruined economy, devalued dollar, destruction of households and communities, sexual lunacy and programmed mental illness — this is the party’s legacy. Are none among them even a little bit ashamed of the damage they’ve done to this nation? And maybe wondering about it between one another? Perhaps even anxious to make it stop?

And so, the delegates head to Chicago, a city in civic freefall, to either pretend to celebrate the capricious selection of utterly dubious leaders imposed on them by unseen hands, or, just maybe, to revolt against the evil cabal affecting to “defend our democracy” by squashing it. Of course that’s inside the convention. Lord knows what hijinks are being concocted for outsidethe United Center arena by the various tribes that run on hot yellow bile these dog days of summer — the Hamas mob, the sex freaks, Antifas, BLMs, assorted Bolsheviks, anarchists, utopians, climate change sob-sisters, Gramscian culture stompers, Spartacists, Trotskyites, Jacobins, Fabians, and plain old riffraff out for fun and loot. The gigantic parking wasteland surrounding the United Center on West Madison Street has the look of a perfect battlefield.

All that commences on Monday. In the meantime, much misdirection zings around the Trumpian opposition and the outlier Robert F Kennedy, Jr., as the intel blob that runs mainstream media attempts to seed dissension and confusion amongst them. It includes rumors that Mr. Trump made “a deal” with the blob to go all flabby in exchange for getting let off the hook on his many blob-contrived lawfare problems. The chance of that being true must be zero, even though New York Judge Juan Merchan has an opportunity to send the former president to jail on September 18. I would like to see him try that. It will surely prompt the most momentous and memorable tableau of symbolic resistance in US history since John Paul Jones yelled to the British ship Serapis requesting his surrender, “I have not yet begun to fight.”

As for RFK, Jr., stories circulate that Mr. Trump tried (and failed) to make a deal that would have got Bobby on-board as veep, or some other juicy assignment, if he would drop out of the race. But it’s hard to see exactly how that discredits either of them, since just about everybody expects Mr. Trump, if elected, to employ Bobby for, at least, cleaning up the public health and pharma sectors of the blob — an epic task he’s ideally suited for.

Then, there was malicious chatter late this week that Bobby had approached Kamala Harris with a proffered endorsement in exchange for a key position in her government — assuming that massive ballot fraud ensures her victory November fifth. Mr. Kennedy denied the rumor and went on to denounce the current incarnation of the Democratic Party as utterly inimical to everything it used to represent when his father and his uncle, President John F. Kennedy, were in office, especially on matters of free speech and censorship.

As that quarrel rolled out, Judge Christina Ryba kicked Bobby off the New York ballot for supposedly mis-stating that he was a New York resident on his own voter registration. He intends to appeal. New York has become a judicial sewer under Democratic Governor Kathy Hochul.

So, stand by now to see whether Kamala Harris and Tim Walz come out of next week’s convention Mixmaster the same way they went in: as bona fide candidates. At some point Ms. Harris will have to demonstrate some fitness for high office besides being a go-go dancer and a laugh riot. Tim Walz acts so unhinged in front of every audience that I expect the campaign to stuff him in a broom closet when the convention is over — should he actually still be on the ticket when all is said and done.

It seems at this point that the brooding Matron of Chappaqua will never get her “turn” in the White House after all. It must gall Hillary to see history change her out for an equity hire with half a brain. Politics is a cruel business. You’ll see just how cruel the next time they try to whack Mr. Trump in this No Prisoners, End of the Road election campaign. It will almost certainly get crazier from here.

 

 

James Howard Kunstler is the author of many books including (non-fiction) The Geography of Nowhere, The City in Mind: Notes on the Urban Condition, Home from Nowhere, The Long Emergency, and Too Much Magic: Wishful Thinking, Technology and the Fate of the Nation. His novels include World Made By Hand, The Witch of Hebron, Maggie Darling — A Modern Romance, The Halloween Ball, an Embarrassment of Riches, and many others. He has published three novellas with Water Street Press: Manhattan Gothic, A Christmas Orphan, and The Flight of Mehetabel.

 

 

 

 

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