Kamala’s political career was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. Old Joe Biden signed off on it, even holding a cordial meeting with Donald Trump in the White House. Cackling Kamala’s chaotic career was as dead as a door-nail.
Yeah, you’ve heard this before. This is indeed “A Christmas Carol,” and with Old Joe’s wild Scroogey hair billowing in the wind at the White House’s National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony on Friday, the comparison was irresistible. The New York Post reported that the Biden “doffed his stocking cap to reveal long, wispy locks — appearing more like a character out of Charles Dickens’ Yuletide classic than the commander-in-chief. His white, billowy hair stood on end from the wool cap’s static electricity, spooking the White House press corps by making him seem older — and ghostlier — than usual.”
Ghosts. Ah! Of course. The mention of Kamala’s political funeral brings me back to the point I started from. “A MAGA Christmas, uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of the American people, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach. “Bah!” said Old Joe, “Humbug!”
But Old Joe was in for a troubled night. Let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Biden, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change–not a knocker, but Kamala’s face. “Who are you?” a terrified Biden asks.
“Ask me who I was.”
“In political life I was your running mate, Kamala Harris. And this night, you will be haunted by Three Spirits.” Then she hiccuped.
First to come was a portly spirit with an unfashionably shapeless beard. “I am the Ghost of Free Republics Past,” the spirit announced. “Rise! And walk with me!” As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall and stood in the United States Senate. “Good Heaven!” said Old Joe, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!”
It was a confirmation hearing for a Supreme Court Justice. “In life,” the spirit told Scrooge Biden, “I was Robert Bork, a highly capable and qualified judge whom Ronald Reagan nominated for the Supreme Court, only for you to destroy my chances, and my reputation, in brazenly unfair and partisan confirmation hearings. The Hill noted in 2020 that ‘Supreme Court nomination hearings have gone from serene to savage, thanks largely to Joe Biden.’ Your ‘smearing of Bork for his original-intent judicial philosophy transformed hearings for Supreme Court nominees into bloody ideological battles. Henceforth, all conservative nominees were subjected to “Borking.”’”
“Spirit!” cried Old Joe, “show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?” And presently he was back in his bedroom, but awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Biden spotted, to his horror and dismay, another visitor.
“I am the Ghost of Free Republics Present,” said the spirit. “Look upon me! I am the MAGA Republicans, the loyal and patriotic Americans who deplored the destruction you wrought upon our nation’s unity and social fabric. For standing for our national integrity and strength, you smeared us and sicced the FBI on us, saying that ‘Donald Trump and the MAGA Republicans represent an extremism that threatens the very foundations of our republic.’ Clearly you did not want to make America great again. You wanted it to continue to decline.”
The bell struck twelve. It was Jan. 20, 2025. Biden looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of Kamala Harris, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him.
“I am in the presence of the Ghost of Free Republics Yet To Come?” said Biden. The spirit did not answer, but pointed onward with its hand. “You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Biden added. “Is that so, Spirit?”
Without a word, the Ghost handed Old Joe a clipping from the Daily Mail, with the headline: “Biden will leave office as the 'worst president' in modern history, according to voters in devastating poll.” In his agony, Biden caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him. Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom’s hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.
Yes! And the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in! “I don’t know what to do!” cried Old Joe, laughing and crying in the same breath. “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A MAGA Christmas to everybody! I’ll dress Jill in red and vote for Trump!”
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Old Joe straightaway headed for the home of all the poor, beleaguered Bob Cratchits, that is, the American people who endured four years of his regime’s reign of terror, with its inundation of criminal migrants, skyrocketing inflation, drag queens in primary schools and all the rest. “A MAGA Christmas, Bob!” said Old Joe, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A MAGA-er Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you, for many a year! Rejoice! Trump will lower your taxes, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, Bob Cratchit!”
Inside, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was frying a turkey in beef tallow, the MAHA way, and Old Joe enthusiastically joined in the feast, to the surprise and wonder of his hosts. “God bless us, everyone!” Old Joe cried out. Kennedy looked up from his fryer and exclaimed: “And RFK!”
It’s just a dream. Old Joe, wild hair and all, is still the national Scrooge, doing all he can to make us miserable. But now, as Christmas approaches, we can hope that someday, before he finally departs from the scene, that even Old Joe Biden will learn how to keep Christmas well. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as our mythical RFK Jr. observed, God bless Us, Every One!
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