My mother has a theory. Actually, my mother has a number of theories; and since I’m reasonably certain she’s going to read this, I’m going to preface this by saying they’re all unassailably brilliant. No matter what the topic might be, Mom is right. I’ll even repeat that under oath, lest anyone think that prison scares me more than the silent treatment from Mom.
But the theory she shared with me during our latest weekly phone call made the kind of sense that makes me glad she didn’t apply for my job here at the Personal Liberty Digest®. According to Mom, everything about the 2016 Presidential race is about to blow up like Ferguson, Missouri after a WWE-sized thug commits suicide by cop.
After a few moments commiserating about the sorry state of American politics, Mom described the 2016 race as “craziness;” craziness being Mom-speak for “words a lady would never say out loud.”
“None of this will matter in a couple of months. Hillary’s going to be indicted. Bernie is ridiculous. And Joe Biden is going to rescue them. He’ll bring in Elizabeth Warren as a running mate, and they’ll win.”
I have to admit it: Mom’s theory checks all the right boxes. Biden, who can still pull the “it’s my dying son’s last wish” card, would be a sentimental choice. He’s played smiling uncle to his boss’s snide brat for eight years. And though his exclamations, like his infamous “just walk out on the balcony here, walk out and put that double-barrel shotgun and fire two blasts outside the house” remark, make us cringe, and his oddly touchy-feely behavior gives us the willies, it’s not like we dislike him as viscerally as we do the haughty Barack Obama, the shrill Hillary Clinton or the seemingly insane Bernie Sanders.
Mom also noted that any of the questions which might arise from Biden’s occasional lapses in judgement and/or sanity would be covered by the almost-robotic Warren. “Besides,” proclaimed Mom, “she’ll bring in both those obnoxious feminists and all of Sanders’s college kids.” I should note that Mom, who sports a degree from one of the Nation’s top colleges and a resume which includes time as an editor at a major publishing house, says “feminist” the way I say “stewed beets.”
She is in no way impressed by Warren’s gender-centric claims. And she remembers all the exciting parts of the Cold War, so both Sanders’s and Warren’s affinity for the type of government which made the Cold War exciting rings none of her bells.
I weakly pointed out that Donald Trump’s completely unorthodox campaign is clearly hitting the right chord with an electorate tired of a political elite which shrieks accusations at them while rolling out the welcome mat for every bleating “protected class” and hate group from Malibu to Teheran. Mom responded by pointing out that she remembered Trump from the 80s and 90s, when he was occasionally both bankrupt and/or a Democrat. “Trump’s game works on these guys, but he’ll come off like a bully against Biden.”
I tried one more time; noting that Warren is dragging a fair amount of baggage, most of which is the really expensive kind, paid for by her not-unimpressive personal wealth. “She doesn’t have to be likeable. She has to seem together enough to offset Biden’s ‘senior moments.’ And no one cares that she made a ton of money without working a day job. Most of them voted for Obama, twice!”
And then, Mom dropped the hammer. “Biden loses it a couple years in and steps down; and Elizabeth Warren takes the oath of office.” As I sat in momentary silence at the realization that my mother had just outsmarted every pundit, campaign strategist and K Street flack, she added “And that’s when your father and I are going to move to New Zealand.”
–Ben Crystal
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