Sure, I enjoy watching magaturds freaking the fuck out over Harris/Walz and enjoy watching Zionist assholes who think you are mentally ill freaking the fuck out over not-Shapiro and enjoy mocking both as much as anyone but
Most of the grid below (and the paragraph below the below hexjeff) made in the days before the Walz pick and the angry links still valid despite the euphoric glee of rank-and-file Democrats remembering what it feels like when motherfucking professional Democrats fight back if even only performatively (don't yuck my yum the person I'm related to by marriage tells me). 
Reminder: there cannot be the level of immiseration and enshitification the Western ruling class deems necessary to survive and profit without increasing the assholification of crackers and christers whose creed and faith demand the devout to be assholes unto god and country (I am rereading Faulkner's *Light in August,* first time in decades, want to read the scariest chapter I've ever encountered depicting the mind of a complete crackerchrister asshole? read the Doc Hines chapter, chapter 16, lordy).
Our shitlords are fine with Donald Trump leading the way but keenly understand that assholification will happen faster, better, deeper if Harris wins, she's in on the game and will move heaven and earth to maintain Democrats -.06% less shittiness and will not codify Roe and will not ban assault weapons or any enact any other leftist wet dreams. She will be a genocidaire
And reminder: Trump still may win, and even if he doesn't it may be close enough when he claims fraud the chaos everyone anticipates happens (which will give Democrats even greater chances to move right). Too: my Mope Grooves binge continues, shame it took Pohlman dying to remind me to binge, fuck me
SATURDAY NIGHT AS AN ADULT
Anne Carson
We really want them to like us. We want it to go well. We overdress. They are narrow people, art people, offhand, linens. It is early summer, first hot weekend. We meet on the street, jumble about with kisses and are we late? They had been late, we’d half-decided to leave, now oh well. That place across the street, ever tried it? Think we went there once, looks closed, says open, well. People coming out. O.K. Inside is dark, cool, oaken. Turns out they know the owner. He beams, ushers, we sit. And realize at once two things, first, the noise is unbearable, two, neither of us knows the other well enough to say bag it. Our hearts crumble. We order food by pointing and break into two yell factions, one each side of the table. He and she both look exhausted, from (I suppose) doing art all day and then the new baby. We eat intently, as if eating were conversation. We keep passing the bread. My fish comes unboned, I weep pretending allergies. Finally someone pays the bill and we escape to the street. For some reason I was expecting snow outside. There is none. We decide not to go for ice cream and part, a little more broken. Saturday night as an adult, so this is it. We thought we’d be Nick and Nora, not their blurred friends in greatcoats. We cover our ears inside our souls. But you can’t stop it that way.
