The opinion writers at the New York Times have turned on their king. Just because he makes a faint, gurgling, rattling noise whenever he opens his mouth, the sound of something mucosal squelching around in old lead pipes. Just because he stares like a lobotomy patient. Just because he speaks in a mush of boiled consonants, and at the end of his sentences the words all dribble out together like a newborn baby’s milky-white puke. All he did was stand on a debate stage next to Donald Trump’s shit-eating grin, looking like a corpse still jerked around by the family of mice that’s started burrowing inside. All he did was say things like ‘we finally beat Medicare’ and ‘there’s a lot of young women who are being raped by their sisters, by, just, it’s just ridiculous.’ And now, Thomas Friedman thinks Joe Biden needs to stand down.
He said so the morning after the debate. ‘The Biden family and political team must gather quickly,’ he wrote, ‘and have the hardest of conversations with the president, a conversation of love and clarity and resolve. To give America the greatest shot possible of deterring the Trump threat in November, the president has to come forward and declare that he will not be running for re-election.’ Frank Bruni had a similar thought. He asked: ‘Is it really too late for another Democrat to take Biden’s place? With stakes this high, mustn’t that be discussed one more time before the convention?’ Nicholas Kristof began his piece by saying that ‘President Biden is a good man, but I hope he reviews his debate performance Thursday evening and withdraws from the race.’ In fact, they all called Biden a good man. They all said that retiring would be an act of service. The New York Times didn’t publish all these pieces because these writers have different, interesting perspectives that all need to be heard. Certainly not because they have different, interesting literary voices. (If you want language that doesn’t sound deader than Joe himself, it’s all crammed into the roundtable. ‘Disastrous.’ ‘God help us.’ ‘He sounded like a dying humidifier.’) The Times paid for the same opinion column three times because they’re trying to simulate unanimity: each column pre-approves the others; together, they all say that this is just what everyone thinks. Finally, the editorial board came out with its own statement. ‘Mr Biden has been an admirable president. But the greatest public service Mr Biden can now perform is to announce that he will not continue to run for re-election.’ Political animals move in herds. Maybe if a few big dumb buffalo turn away, the rest will follow, instead of blindly stampeding into the black ravine that is Joe Biden’s mind…
Cowards! Backstabbers! Ingrates! Traitors! Snakes! Biden’s performance at that debate was magnificent. No one is better placed or richlier qualified to lead his county through the rest of this decade. Before the debate I still wasn’t sure, but now I’m absolutely committed; I’m ridin’ with Biden, even if I know exactly where this road leads. Make him president for life! It could be longer than you think. Hook him up to machines, flood his veins with crank. Long live Joe! Long live the king!
These writers, with all their grave concerns—exactly where do they think they live? I’m sure everyone at the Times would prefer it if they came from a nice sane Western European democracy, but you don’t. This is America, baby! This is the great death-continent, this is a vast cannibal island off the coast of the world. America has never been governed by the living. When the Mexica were in Chapultepec, migrating south, their priest-king asked a local noble called Achitometl for his daughter, to be their sovereign and the bride of the living god. When the girl arrived, she was dressed in feathers and perfumes, garlanded with beautiful flowers. Then the Mexica killed her, flayed her, cut out her heart, and invited Achitometl to watch the priest-king dance while wearing her ragged, splattered skin. That’s what it meant to be a sovereign. Up the in Andes, Tawantinsuyu was ruled by its dead: mummified corpses wearing gold masks, seated at their tables with brown withered hands out flat, still dressed in their fine clothes, still waited on by their servants, still issuing orders. The Sapa Inca is not a ruler for life; his reign lasts much longer than that. No war or marriage without first consulting the dead.
This is your heritage as an American. So yes, fine: your democratic process has been reduced to an Old Man Contest, two leathery codgers competing over who has more of his brain still functioning. Odds are pretty good that both candidates were wearing some kind of adult incontinence nappy for the debate. A good night for either of them meant not visibly drooling or falling over on stage. So what? This upsets you? You think your country ought to be better than this? Are you really worried about Joe Biden? Joe Biden is still alive! He talks! You can ask him what day of the week it is, and he’ll answer you! The answer might even be accurate! What are you complaining about? For thousands of years, your continent was ruled by the silent mountains and the blood-hungry sun, and they spoke a language only measurable in graves. Next to them, Joe Biden is a model of lucidity.
What the backstabbers don’t understand is that Joe Biden is president for a reason. You will not unseat him, because he is the man for his age. Napoleon might have been the world-spirit on horseback, but the world-spirit no longer needs horses. Joe Biden is the world-spirit dribbling ice cream down its chin.