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On Sunday, Vice President Kamala Harris is blowing out 60 candles, marking the occasion by reminding everyone that she’s 18 years younger than Donald Trump—who seems to be aging in dog years if you ask his campaign manager, who probably benefits from an unending supply of dog treats to soothe his bewildered soul.
As we Sprint toward the 2024 presidential race—where the candidates seem more like a lineup at a carnival freak show than hopeful leaders—Harris has taken to questioning Trump’s mental and physical fitness. “The American people deserve better than someone who seems utterly unhinged,” she quipped from among the junk food wrappers in her Detroit rally, as if presidential capabilities could be gauged by how many hoagies one can juggle.
This isn’t just a plot twist worthy of daytime TV; it’s a complete inversion of the Republican playbook where age was the ultimate insult aimed at President Biden—who, at 81, is often misrepresented as containing the ancient wisdom of Yoda. But since Biden dropped out, casting Harris as the sprightly alternative has become the Democrats’ new strategy. She’s even positioning herself as the beacon of a “new generation of leadership,” which basically translates to “hey, I still remember the lyrics to songs from this century.”
Meanwhile, Harris’s camp is slinging mud like a toddler at a birthday party after an overly sugary cake. They jumped on a report that Trump’s team claims he’s too “exhausted” to bother with interviews; we can only assume he’s spending all that energy meticulously crafting baldly incoherent speeches. One can imagine a Trump adviser whispering, “Let’s not discuss why he’s been ‘resting’ instead of politicking; we wouldn’t want the world to see his true form—a sleepy, grumpy toddler in a suit.”
David Plouffe, Harris‘s wisecracking adviser, chimed in for prime time, marveling aloud whether someone exhausted from the campaign trail could possibly qualify for a job with actual responsibilities. “Being president is a tough gig; if your toddler can’t sit still in the grocery cart, how can they steer the nuclear option?” he wondered, as if officially nominating the nation’s toddlers for office.
As we dig deeper into this circus, Harris’s campaign has rolled out a new advertisement pitching Trump’s potential presidency as “more unhinged, unstable, and unchecked”—which sounds a lot like the Netflix description for a reality show about unsupervised cats wreaking havoc.
Even Obama, pulling out to campaign in Arizona, added sardonic spice to the mix, declaring that America doesn’t need “an older, loonier Donald Trump with no guardrails.” The crowd roared, half-hoping he’d pull a rabbit out of a hat woven from Trump’s hair. He showcased lively critiques too, mocking Trump’s fixation on “the late, great Hannibal Lecter” during speeches—now part horror movie and part bizarre therapy session.
Meanwhile, Trump’s fashionably late commentary about migrants seeking asylum and their uncanny resemblance to fictional cannibals just adds fuel to the fire of this wonderfully surreal political pantomime. And who could forget his charming self-description as the “father of IVF?” Obama, in an attempt to play grandpa, mused, “If granddad started talking like this at the dinner table, you wouldn’t let him near the gravy boat, would you?”
So, as we plunge headfirst into the fetid swamp of this election circus, we can only sit back with our popcorn—or perhaps a sacrificial horde of candy—because if this isn’t the greatest tragedy disguised as comedy, nothing is.
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