There are only two Tuesdays until the US Presidential Election, and the polling shows Harris and Trump are neck and fat-neck. It’s lavishly bewildering. From this side of the Atlantic, the possibility that the USA could once again choose a dick-waving, pussy-grabbing insurrectionist seems ass-backwards to the point of derangement.
The candied yam is currently bounding through a series of staggering norm violations, any one of which would kill off a normal candidate in a normal year. Just this week, for example, he has claimed to be the father of IVF, bridled under the merciless lash of infant-level mathematics, and turned voters’ opportunity to ask him searching questions into a 39-minute impromptu dance recital that looked like Vogon Poetry in Motion.
That such a man is still in the running comes down to one thing: his supporters treat him like the leader of a cult. Although to be fair, he does share a lot of characteristics with one: nothing he says is true, he’s made an incomprehensibly large number of much younger women pregnant, and his tenure concluded with the violent storming of a building full of acolytes. If you are what you eat, he is literally Kool-Aid. He’s even perfected the colour.
