Governor Ron DeSantis, otherwise known as Governor Death Sentence, has finally withdrawn from the race. I call him Governor Death Sentence because his wretched campaign not only cost over 150 million dollars but, according to Chris Hayes of MSNBC, some 87,000 lives in Florida as a consequence of his uninspiringly ignorant and incompetent handling of the pandemic.
Others have made similar observations. His response early on was one of competence as he led the nation in rapid response, closing down the state in the early weeks as the nation was swept by the disease. Then, just as the vaccine was being introduced, Death Sentence changed course, his judgment addled by Potomic Fever, a condition that plagues every politician that emerges upon the national stage. We've been over this before in these columns: an emerging politico at some point looks in the mirror and imagines himself, or herself, in the Oval Office, staff and servants at beck and call, flights on Air Force One, meetings with heads of state, “Hail to the Chief” ringing in their ears. Soon a fever takes hold and they become blinded by ambition. Gyrating on stage, careening from town to town, they become almost laughable as they contort themselves into hopelessly grotesque parodies of themselves.
In the case of Death Sentence it happened all too early. Fresh from a resounding victory over a moribund Democratic opponent, himself a former Republican Governor of Florida, and a nearly non-existent Democratic Party, and backed by special interests, Death Sentence began preening on national television, notably nearly nightly appearances on Rupert Murdoch's Faux “News”. He passed and signed legislation making it lawful for motorists to run down protesters, he led a campaign to ban books in libraries and schools, he openly campaigned against Donald tRUMP's vaccine reopening the state far too early causing tens of thousands to needlessly die. He signed greater voter restriction laws, publicly arrested blacks and Latinos for voter fraud, their innocence only later revealed. He fired his state health director and appointed a complete ignoramus who openly waged war against Dr. Fauci and the administration in Washington's attempt to reign in on the pandemic. Disease spread; the Bubonic Plague and Leprosy began reappearing in Florida.
But Death Sentence, wearing ignorance like a crown, proceeded undeterred. He declared war on Disney, Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse for Christ's sake, the state's largest employer and, with the cruise industry, a major source of tourism. He openly spoke of 'slitting throats' declaring that Florida is “where woke comes to die”.
This was, of course, the snarling politics of grievance and retribution, an attempt to out-tRUMP tRUMP; to be more disgusting than Caesar Disgustus; a task he must soon have found daunting.
I could have told him two years ago that the enterprise would be a fool's errand. Just what was the hard, cold political calculation that would justify such expense, so so much damage, and cost so many lives. Surely anyone with any political acumen would soon realize that there was no lane to the nomination. You can't out scum the king-hell scumbag of the century.
He tried to outflank tRUMP by running to the wrong of Disgustus, attempting to out fascist the fascist. But, alas, Disgustus is a greased pig, difficult to hold down, accomplished at throwing shit in every direction.
Nevertheless, beset with the 'Fever', Death Sentence soldiered on, his legislative record now on the books, he stepped into the ring.
It was not a fortuitous beginning. Eschewing, as if giving the middle finger to the “Mainstream Media”, long the bugaboo of the idiot wrong, Death Sentence took to “Shitter”, now owned by Elon Musk and re-branded for some inane reason “X”. It was a disaster as those few who logged on were treated to twenty minutes of silence and occasional background noise as the campaign struggled mightily to get online before the audience evaporated. The faux pas made all the headlines. It didn't get much better as the campaign droned on.
There are accounts of how it was the image of Donald tRUMP was fashioned on NBC. As the network was setting up The Apprentice apparently the producers went to tRUMP Tower and discovered that not only his office was unsuitable for a would-be billionaire, but nobody would believe that Disgustus had such wealth judging from the tattered and shopworn furniture. Accordingly, not only was the show scripted, reality television is actually contrived fantasy, but the network commandeered the stage upon which the weekly broadcast of Saturday Night Live is produced and rented the furnishings creating the boardroom in which stage hand Noel Casler contends tRUMP regularly shit himself. In any case, this fantasy, this projection, perhaps tRUMP's singular accomplishment in life, embedded itself through over a decade of repetition into the skull of America.
First impressions are lasting, especially on the national political stage. Just ask George C. Wallace who forever is remembered for briefly standing in the schoolhouse door blocking integration of the University of Alabama. Death Sentence would find himself running against America's imagined tycoon, master astride a great empire, a self-proclaimed expert in every field. The country was led to believe it, at least enough of the country, for Disgustus to sneak in the back door of the White House.
Against this Juggernaut, young David approached with his sling the blathering, lumbering, foul-smelling Goliath. But he lacked the courage of his ambition. Given an opportunity to openly declare that he would not support Caesar Disgustus should he gain the Party's nomination and yet be convicted of a felony, DeSantis and everyone else on the stage save Arkansas Governor Asa Hutchinson and New Jersey's Chris Christie demurred.
There were at least two flies in the ointment; two flaws in the political strategy of our Governor Death Sentence. First, one cannot run against someone like tRUMP by being a “mini-me”. Why vote for Disgustus-lite when you can have genuine disgusting. Second, and more importantly, let's say you do defeat the scumbag and gain the party's nomination. What will he do? You have to know what he'll do. He'll run as a third party candidate, write-in candidate, or tell his followers to stay home. He'll whine that the contest had been rigged and that you and your conspirators had stolen the nomination—always rightfully his. Hell, he might even endorse Joe Biden.
So there never was a lane for Death Sentence to win the White House. The only benefit of this long miserable exhibition is that, perhaps, we will have seen the last of his miserable ass. One can only hope.
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