“Disgustus looked like a Jackass left out in a hailstorm”
----Quotations of Chairman Joe
The tables were turned on Caesar Disgustus. It was an event long anticipated. For as soon as old Joe retired from the arena, all eyes were transfixed upon Kamala and, by god, we knew what was in store for the school yard bully. “Pop up the corn, Martha,” said I. “This is going to be good”.
Disgustus has been beating his chest for weeks, telling his Maggots that she was low I.Q. (a little projection there little Donny?); that she was somehow illegitimate; that she wasn't up for the task at hand. It was a classic debating error: lowering the bar so low that it is not difficult to meet expectations. The Democrats did that with Reagan in 1980. They did it again with “Ole Two-Cows” in 2000. Disgustus and his Maggots made the same mistake this time. All Kamala had to do was show up and speak in complete, cogent sentences to meet expectations.
She did more than that. She beat Donald tRUMP like a rented mule. It was, as Harris had framed the contest, between the prosecutor and the convict. She goaded him into a demented, howling rage laying rake after rake before him and, being tRUMP, he proceeded to step on every one of them.
Now there are only two possible outcomes when one steps on a rake. The first is that the tines puncture your shoes and embed themselves in your foot. The second is that the handle of the rake comes up and hits you in the face. Both occurred to the most haplessly and helplessly ignorant man ever to stand before the American people on the national political stage.
It began innocently enough. Kamala was a bit nervous in the opening moments. Disgustus was, for Disgustus, cogent and relaxed. Then the wheels came off the wagon.
She told him that he was fired by 81 million Americans. This stung the former star of The Apprentice whose signature line “you're fired” has once again become a refrain, referencing Harris, on the campaign trail.
She told him, citing military generals who served in his administration, that he was a disgrace.
And, perhaps most importantly, she mocked the size of his crowds, inviting her followers to attend his rallies and witness the dwindling attendance and to behold people walking out, bored and disgusted, in the middle of his speeches.
Already back on his heels and against the ropes, Disgustus flew into a blind, frothing rage accusing Harris of paying people to attend her rallies and of busing in supporters. A little projection there Donnie? All the while, on split screen, Harris stood with her hand under her chin with a look on her face that said “oh, you poor hapless bastard, isn't it time for psychiatric intervention?”
In her first speech to the nation she told tRUMP that if he had something to say to her, he should “say it to my face”. He couldn't bring himself to do that. He didn't have the courage. Instead he stood hunched over the podium, looking down and away, angry and afraid, squirming like his Maggots under the hot light of cross-examination.
Harris is Disgustus' kryptonite. She is everything he fears and loathes. She is a woman. She is Black. She is well-spoken. Foremost she is, far more than tRUMP, intelligent and competent. And this is what galls him the most
Sixty one million Americans watched as Kamala Harris administered a beating to the schoolyard bully and Caesar Disgustus shit himself to his socks. A grateful nation rejoiced as she did what no one else in the political arena has been able, all these long years, to do: kick him in his crowd size.
Immediately upon conclusion Harris called for another debate. Disgustus was heard to echo the whimper of Roberto Duran: “No Mas”.
Imprison the Bastard.
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