Return of the Cack

Setting: A stage riser in Frank Ogawa Plaza in downtown Oakland, California, after a thorough sweeping away of the bums, discarded pizza boxes and beer cans, careful disposal of used hypodermic needles, and pressure-washing away of fecal stains.

Date: Martin Luther King, Jr., Day. “For the symbolism,” a chinless-wonder advisor emphasizes.

Time: Mid-morning. Not too early, so the Chardonnay-induced hangover impedes performance. And not too late to interfere with an afternoon grape belt.

Target demographic: White wine trackers; divorced suburban moms; childless condo-dwellers hooked on SSRIs; master’s degree-holders; millions upon millions of layabout welfare moochers.

Purpose: Kweeeeeeeeen Kamala Harris’s prezy-dential announcement! YAAAAAAAASSSSSS! YAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSS! YAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSS! GET IDDDDDDDDD GURRRRRRRLLLLL!

The image of our first commandress-in-chief is easily conjured: Harris approaches the podium, beige kitty heels clacking, pressed grey pantsuit swallowing sunlight with its bland mono-pull, putting down her Chat-composed remarks as Mark Morrison’s sultry vocals crackle over the speakers. The chorus hits, and there she goes. A shimmy, a wag, a vogue, some head twirling, syncopated finger snaps, and that ghastly, pasted-on grin from which emerges the infernal laugh. **Singing: Return of the Cack (hyeehhh yehhhh) Return of the Cack (hyeehhh yehhhh) Return of the Cack (hyeehhh yehhhh) You know that I’ll be back (eeeehyehhhh yeehhhyehhhh!).

(Well, you all know what a hyena being slaughtered by a bear sounds like.)

Gird your precious loins, America. And excise your eardrums, gouge your eyes, slit your wrists, choke your throat, and bash your brain against the nearest hard surface. Because the Brat is Back.

Since shame is missing from her emotional vocabulary, Kamala Harris is plotting yet another White House run. Or, more likely, a handful of hangers-on staff are carefully coordinating a schema to vault her to the White House. Harris is assuredly uninvolved in this effort, which requires skills she sorely lacks, like long-term thinking, deft strategizing, fine-tuned instincts, straight-spine seriousness, and the ability to speak for seven minutes without busting into a giggly fit. In American politics, the star swizzles Moët and kisses rich ass while 20-somethings do all the work.

Harris hasn’t made her bid official…yet. Harris28.com doesn’t redirect to an untrackable ActBlue donation page. No merch store is flogging “Queer Disabled Pacific-Islanders for Kamala” coozies. “Dougie” isn’t out manning the hustings, resisting the urge to knock up the first nubile au pair who crosses his path.

So what extant hints suggest Harris eyes for the throne? For one, she’s trodding the worn path of mini-rallies for unknown candidates in lapis-blue states, such as her recent stumping in Las Vegas at a local union hall. Auntie Kamala is also warming up her larynx, readopting her sing-songy patronizing tone, holding forth to voters like an overly enthusiastic kindergarten teacher. Just wait until she resurrects the aesthetic transcendence of a “yellow school bus.”

The most suggestive indicator that Harris is cooking a comeback is her foray into a territory she knows too well: staking out darling leftist positions that have zero appeal outside graduate seminars. During an interview on the “Baby, This is Keke Palmer” podcast, Harris reverted to an insipid Bluesky poster. Or dropped pretenses and assumed her natural form. Or was instructed to read from a teleprompter. Either way, she coughed up this prudential piece of statesmanship: “I believe that we need to expand the Supreme Court. We need more justices on the Supreme Court so that we can have a court that actually reinforces the spirit and principles behind the Constitution of the United States.”

The easy exegesis: I’ll pack the Court with Ivy-educated wokels so my signature law, the Feel-Good-Rich-Tax-Sex-Change-for-Illegals bill, won’t be struck down. Staking out such a bold claim may help Harris top South Carolina’s primary. She tickled the lib brain further: “I believe that we should be pushing for what is possible around changing the Electoral College, right? It’s about, the popular vote has to matter, right?”

My memory is a tad fuzzy, but I seem to recall Harris losing both the popular and electoral vote. How abrogating the Electoral College would reverse her loss is a real baffler. And isn’t the Electoral College one of the “principles behind the Constitution”? Sure doesn’t sound like a Harris-rejiggered Supreme Court would be too enthused with the spirit of federalism.

The ‘28 Democratic bench is already going to be more packed than a Capitol Hill gay when Congress is in session. Besides padding her campaign account to pay off debt from the last run, what does Harris offer true-bluers besides a bitter aftertaste? Third time’s the charm? Or at least a shiny bijou from the Ritz for the lucky consultant who manages the campaign? What’s the rationale? It’s hard to scour.

I suppose that’s where “Super Intelligence” comes in. The President’s moniker for the Borg-mind may have an answer. Or will at least be able to roll the “why” die a zagizillion times to find some steady coherence. Let’s give it a shot: I’ll type “Why should Kamala Harris run for president in 2028” into Claude, Gemini, ChatGPT, and Grok. Now I’ll press “enter” and…

WHOA. Did you hear that? What’s that mass of black smoke emanating over Northern Virginia?