As I’ve mentioned a time or three, I’ve been running through the streets screaming with my hair on fire pondering the direction this fine country of ours is headed. I am shrieking in panic. I have a few concerns.
There’s a point at which you have to admit that the hit job has been fatal. I’m starting to think it’s over for Biden.
I’m sad about it. I’m angry. I’m anxious. All of that. But I think we’ve crossed a point where he can’t come back.
Never mind the histrionics of the so-called “liberal media.” Put aside the drip, drip, drip of some no-name, back-bench Dems nervously climbing into their life jackets.
First was that clever "mic accident" orchestrated by George Stephanopolis.
Then came Nancy Pelosi’s tepid and tight-lipped “We’ll support whatever he decides to do” approach, as opposed to the full-throated support for her man that Biden had no doubt hoped for.
But George Clooney? That's it. It’s over. I’m not even sure Taylor Swift can save us now.
I’m sorry, Joe. It isn’t fair, and I don't like it. You’ve been an amazingly effective president, and it truly sucks that this is happening. I wanted you to have four more years. I wanted you to have four more years.
I want Biden to turn this around, truly I do. But my gut says it's too late. We can parse out later who's to blame and what coulda/shoulda/woulda happened, but if he can't stop the hemorrhaging and fast, it's over.
It needs to be as quick and painless, as surgical, and as healable as possible. Can we trust our distringuished Dem leadership to do that?
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