[BenIndy comment: Wow! Times-Herald editor Jack Bungart doesn’t hold back. A good read, funny, snarky, true. And on the front page!]

Kamala and the Great Comeuppance

Vallejo Times-Herald, By Jack Bungart Sept 14, 2024

Or his mismatch, as it were.

That wasn’t a debate in Philadelphia Tuesday night. It was a Comeuppance for the Ages, nearly a decade in the making. A roasted pig if you will, more delicious than any household pet could ever be.

Kamala Harris, just months ago another meandering vice president on a long, undistinguished list of them, did a greater service to her country than she could possibly do in that Oval Office she took a giant step toward occupying.

Welcome to the New World Order. If you ever wanted rock-solid proof this country needs a female president — this female president — this was it.

Remember Harris the ineffective campaigner and anonymous vice president? That is so late June Joe Biden. Forget her. She no longer exists.

This Harris, soaring on the wings of momentum, rolling in fresh campaign cash and basking in surging poll numbers, did what so many before her — both Republican and Democrat — had failed to do. She took the bully out behind the woodshed and kicked his ass.

This long overdue, national TV takedown/exposure of Trump was beautiful in its ruthless simplicity. Hit him where he hurts. Not on his plans for the country. He has none, and he quite frankly doesn’t care. Hit him where his malignant narcissism and toxic, fragile ego live.

Start with, say, crowd sizes. Only a shallow, undisciplined fool whose next policy idea will be his first one would bother with the bait, and ladies and gentlemen, this is that fool. Then, smile, chuckle, and stay out of the way while the clown melts down into an orange pool of drivel and felonies.

You know those 63-7 football blowouts where the incredulous announcer says “Bob, this was actually worse than the final score indicates”?

This was that. But worse than the sports cliche indicates.

Worse yet for Trump were the rules. No props of any kind were allowed on stage, meaning he couldn’t drive home his point of Super-Duper MAGA Patriotism without an American Flag to, well, hump. No fans in Flyover Country proclaiming, “Honey, get over here. You say he don’t love our country because he belittles our military, but just look at him make sweet love to that flag!”

As the rout rolled on, Trump became utterly undone, undressed of any pretense of being a man capable of looking out for anything or anyone other than himself. Gone too was the pretense of Trump being a serious candidate worthy of serious consideration outside of that cult he oversees.

This had nothing to do with Republican or Democrat. It never does with Trump.

This is about a befuddled fool not just losing a debate, but losing his way. This was a man who didn’t just deserve to lose, but a man who had to lose.

Perhaps now, finally, we can rid ourselves of this insistence on trying to normalize a man who is so clearly the least intelligent man — and the worst human being — to ever run for the presidency.

Sorry, but when you are sordid enough to keep a straight face while name dropping Viktor Orbán as a character reference, you have got to go. And if you are attempting to actually make a serious case for this soulless sap, you need to check yourself.

Almost mercifully, it finally ended, but not before Trump came up with one last preposterous claim, noting that he was, in fact, “a leader” on the issue of fertility. Nonsense. Everyone knows that’s Nick Cannon.

From there, it was “off to the spin room!” … said no debate winner in political history.

It was in a spin room in Pennsylvania that Trump found his state of denial. Giddy with the pretend spoils of his make-believe victory, Trump rattled off the fictional evidence: “We won in all the polls: 90-10, 81-11 73-9 …” he said, taking a break from his new hobby of memorizing random statistics and fake numbers to make a mental note to put together plans for when the World Series Champion Chicago White Sox and Super Bowl champion Carolina Panthers visit the White House in February.

OK, so maybe he didn’t win. Undaunted, with his MAGA rattle and binky in tow, Trump quickly pivoted to the Battle Cry of the Loser: They cheated me!

The problem, claimed Trump and his handlers at Fox, was those darn ABC moderators and their facts! “It was 3-on-1” they whined, in unison.

Nonsense. This was weak, even for a small, little man like Trump who still can’t fully admit he lost four years ago. For you MAGA folks at home unfamiliar with the concept, this was called journalism. You want to simply throw crap against the wall and make stuff up? You will get checked. It’s called fact-checking. Or in this case, lie-checking.

And no, you don’t fact-check Harris on her flip-flop on fracking. That issue is addressed in the question, which she answered. The fact that she didn’t answer it well doesn’t make it the same as her opponent simply making stuff up — like murdered babies and rigged elections — again.

Did Harris answer every question? Of course she didn’t. I’m sorry, was this your first debate?

And did Trump talk longer than Harris — 5 minutes or so? Of course. See above.

This wasn’t about bias — not even close. It was the chickens coming home to roost for a decade of thousands upon thousands of ridiculous lies Donald Trump has skated on far too often. And it was beautiful. Not for any of those tired, old Democrat vs. Republican stuff, either.

For the truth.

They’re going to check on the truth? This, the evening’s big loser thought, won’t stand. Why, it could even catch on. Donald Trump shares no stage with the truth. Not now, not ever.

This — and that fragile ego — is the reason Captain Bone Spurs is ducking a rematch like it’s Vietnam.

Still …

Trump may be down. He may be missing Joe Biden more than he previously thought possible. He may have no concept of a plan to deal with this woman who is so clearly smarter, sharper, and younger than him.

But he is hardly out. Not as long as there are the archaic Electoral College and the confused, common sense-challenged, attention-starved species known as the undecided voter out there.

Plus, Trump had to be thinking, things could hardly get worse …

Hold my microphone, said one Taylor Swift.

And there it is. Now it’s a Miss-Match.

— Jack F.K. Bungart is the Executive Editor of the Vallejo Times-Herald and the Vacaville Reporter.

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