“I think everyone’s entitled to have total health care.”
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Name that hallucinating public official.
It’s not Elizabeth Warren trying to peel off votes from Bernie Sanders. It’s not Sanders himself, although that’s surely something he’d say.
It’s not Kamala Harris grubbing for a higher than fourth place finish in her own home state. It’s not even Pete Buttigieg, who’s so arrogant he doubtless believes he can use his overachieving brain to make socialism work for real this time.
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No, the fantasist uttering this immortal line in the annals of political pope dreams is former Vice President Joseph Biden.
Does Joe know what words are coming out of his mouth?
The same Joe whose remarks about keeping taxes low before an ultra-rich audience were recently leaked? Nobody’s standard of living it going to have to change, Biden promised. Nobody needs to go demonizing people who make a lot of money.
Where’s the lot of money Biden needs for total health care going to come from?
Not the rich? Not the downwardly mobile and debt-ridden millennials? Not from taxes on the middle class, of course…
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Does Uncle Joe know what total health care means?
Catastrophic injuries, chronic disabilities, hospice care? The latest and greatest treatments, experimental drugs for social diseases, gender reassignment surgery? Lifetime supplies of serotonin reuptake inhibitors, birth control, prescription narcotics? Maternal and paternal leave? Child care, senior care, self care?
Where does it end?
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Joe is tripping… and not just in the sense of dancing awkwardly over stumbling blocks. He’s got the vapors, and he knows the only way he can keep his head is by getting high on the Democrats’ endless supply of utopian dreams.
He can’t look like one of the cool kids unless he blazes right up with the rest of them… drops the acid… drinks the Kool-Aid.
Come on, Joe, you can hear them taunting in his sleep. You’re not a square, are you? Just another entitled old white man who doesn’t realize his time’s up? Still trying to cling to power? You know what we do with guys like that, don’t you…?
It’s a nightmare. But in this primary campaign, there’s no waking up, and this is just the beginning. Biden can’t hide away from the crazy party downstairs much longer before the revelers raid his penthouse and start ransacking his clean, pure world.
So he’s creeping down a flight or two, peering out at the denizens he meets along the way. Muttering reassurances that actually make no sense, and will only serve to bait them into demanding ever hipper and more with-it proclamations of his willingness to do whatever’s cool now.
If nobody up in the penthouse pulls him back inside and bolts the door, Joe will be ripped to pieces by the vanguard on the lower floors. The elites will send a scout down to see what happened, and he will come back up a-tremble to report that Uncle Joe is badly in need of total health care.