Kamala, You Ignorant S-

107 Reasons You Will Never Be President

A little over a year ago, Kristi Noem released her autobiography “No Going Back”. This is standard practice for those with aspirations for the presidency. Obama’s biography, “Dreams of my Father”, was practically holy writ to many of his followers in his 2008 run. Even non-biographies, like Trump’s “Art of the Deal”, is focused on creating a certain brand. Kristi hoped that her autobiography would portray her as a tough-nosed woman who is willing to stare down the toughest foes, all under a Western schtick. She was willing to do everything necessary, even shoot a dog.

The reaction wasn’t what she hoped for, as it portrayed her more as a sadistic monster than a tough country girl. Even urban people understand there’s sometimes a need to put an animal down, especially in old age, but the passages came across callous, lacking the deep pain and grief any man who has to put down a loyal friend feels. It got worse as readers pointed to passages where she bragged about sparring with world leaders she never met, and when confronted stated there might be some inaccuracies that slipped by, admitting she used a ghostwriter. The “inconsistencies” argument was a tough pill to swallow, given she narrated the audiobook herself. It was one of the most disastrous PR stunts in recent history.

Individually, none of these are out of the ordinary. Most politicians use ghostwriters for books, most play fast and loose with the truth, and most are focus-grouped to death. The success of a particular autobiography is the believability of the story and how likable they can make themselves. This requires shrewd balance, trying to come across as a leader, a trailblazer, while also sprinkling anecdotes to give yourself humanity. You can fudge the truth a little, but it has to coincide with the facts everyone has access to. Go too overboard and you become a laughingstock.

Kamala Harris’ autobiography, “107 Days”, is likely the most committee-scrutinized book ever released. You can read in every line the special interests it panders to, the narrative it wants to enforce, the persona it wants to foster, and the future opponents it seeks to knock down. Every tittle was focus grouped and every paragraph vetted to ensure the proper demographic was pandered to. It’s also clear the bubble these people live in, and how grating so many passages are to ears that aren’t fully in line with the urban monoculture.

The tone is set from the start, with Kamala attempting to humanize herself with her readers with the “cool wine aunt” trope.

“Auntie! Auntie!” A small fist rapped gently on my bedroom door. I rolled over and reached for my phone. Amara had kept to our deal. It was exactly 7:30 a.m., and my grandniece had waited patiently to wake me at the agreed hour for our promised Sunday pancakes.

This was a recurring theme throughout the book. She went to great lengths portraying herself as a family woman, difficult when she never had biological kids. The girl-bossy rhetoric was significantly toned down, though she brought up she was a prosecutor at least fifty times and humiliated her husband throughout the book, more on that later. Another fascinating turn was the extent she brought her religious allies to the forefront given the increasingly anti-Christian ideology of her base. It’s clear the messaging she’s going for, both here and in the next primary: “I am the avatar of respect and decency.”

Trouble starts in the beginning, with the elephant in the room regarding her silence in the face of Biden’s cognitive decline. There’s a limit to the spin here, as there is ample publicly known information that can’t be dismissed. She tries to exonerate herself for staying quiet while Biden’s mind started going, arguing he was just getting old and tired. According to the book, Biden called her the day he dropped out.

“I need to talk to you.” He was calling from his home in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, where he’d gone to isolate after testing positive for Covid four days earlier. His voice sounded hoarse, exhausted.

“I’ve decided I’m dropping out.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m going to announce in a few minutes.”

“Why today?” “It’s the only thing anyone is talking about. And it’s too much. There’s going to be another letter from Democratic members of Congress on Monday. It’s too much.”

…..

“I’m fully behind you, Joe,” I told him. “But if you decide not to run, I’m ready. And I would give it all I’ve got, because Trump has to be beaten.”

Yes, totally believable dialogue. The story already makes no sense. Everyone is aware of the strange way his resignation was done. A Twitter post is not how you handle this, and definitely not with a tacked-on endorsement half-an-hour later. It had all the ingredients of a palace coup, not careful deliberation. None of this is explained. To argue this was the plan is a reach, and there’s more to the story we will likely never know.

The next several pages deal with the countless endorsements she received as well as quick biographies of her staff, mostly with glowing praise. The name-dropping in this book are assuredly people she already has plans to work with in her next run. She did, however, make a catty remark towards a likely primary opponent.

Gavin Newsom: Hiking. Will call back. (He never did.)

Meow.

Countless words flowed from her colleagues, explaining how awesome and perfect she is, while also telling us directly how awesome and perfect she is. There is maybe two lines of humility in this entire work, and it’s overrun with lines like:

Meanwhile, on Cooper’s follow-up panel, CNN’s national correspondent John King kicked off his remarks: “I just want to make an observation about your interview with the vice president… I think one of the greatest acts of political malpractice I have seen in my lifetime doing this is that they kept her under wraps for three years. Now she’s on the road, she has great appeals… She also has potential star power. And on issues like reproductive rights and in the Black community, she is a great asset to this team, and they have kept her under wraps.”

I don’t think too many people grasped the strength of the relationships I’d forged. This was not going to be a coronation. It would be the result of years of work.

I’d spoken to more than a hundred people. Every single call had mattered. I’d had to be entirely present for each one, giving out and taking in important information. Now the dining room table was strewn with scrawled notes, sandwich crusts, and the greasy remains of a pizza with anchovies—my favorite, no one else’s.

(ohhh, quirk chungus)

I now know that there is only one apprenticeship for president of the United States, and that is being vice president. I’d been a heartbeat away for three and a half years. I knew the job; I knew I could do it. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do the work. I want to keep people safe and help them thrive. For me, it’s always been about that work. From the time my mother told me to look after my little sister, I have been a protector.

I knew I needed to leave these details in the hands of others. We would fail if I tried to micromanage them. I’d just have to go with God and trust the team. There’s no such thing as a low-key event in a presidential campaign. I had to be 100 percent present for the thousands of voters I’d be meeting every day. I couldn’t be constantly evaluating and questioning everyone else. It wouldn’t be good for their confidence or my peace of mind. Nonetheless, the buck stopped with me, and I was aware of that from the get-go.

These exhausting, overdone tropes never stop. Everything she does is the epitome of virtue and clear-headedness. While self-aggrandizing is expected, talking herself up unintentionally involves humiliating those around her. The portrayal of her husband Doug as a hapless schmuck with his heart in the right place will make any man wince. She explains how he can’t cook, emasculates him by emphasizing most of the Washington D.C. spouse’s circles are for women, relates how speaking to crowds makes him nervous, and goes into way too much detail about his previous affair. It sounded like how a mother pats her five-year-old on the head praising what a good boy he is. Later in the book, she has a tirade when he forgets her birthday.

This seems to point to an interesting subtext I noticed. She seemed deathly afraid of men showing her up. This is apparent with her selection of Tim Walz whom she portrayed, like her husband, as a well-meaning dunderhead. This becomes even more apparent when compared to another two potential V.P. candidates, Josh Shapiro and Mark Kelly. While Walz does the “aww shucks” schtick, denigrating himself, the other two had a plan. They were poised, confident, and with a resume arguably superior to Harris. In other words, if one of those were chosen, she would be outshone. This is almost admitted when it’s written:

Their concerns were how adeptly and passionately each of them would defend me. In short, who would be most loyal and effective at the job. The ambition must be for the job, not for the political future beyond.

In other words, she wanted someone docile, easy to control. She didn’t want the possibility of being upstaged. While not directly slamming Walz, there are some passages so strange it’s hard to not read them as a backhanded compliment. My favorite was the narrative of an early rally.

A local farmer introduced Tim as “a lifelong Midwesterner” who “understands rural America.” Tim proved it as he spoke, connecting to the enthusiastic crowd and finding a Midwestern cadence in which to talk about reproductive rights, LGBTQ+ issues, and how Trump’s Republicans infringed on basic freedoms.

Ah yes, the famously rural issues of reproductive rights and LGBTQ issues. She more or less “put the woke away” for most of the book, the writing committee wisely seeing it as a losing issue.

The Harris campaign epitomizes a crucial flaw in the current democratic machine; one they have no answer to. Men’s issues. In the entire book, there’s one operative in her inner circle mentioned that could be seen as masculine, and her incessant pontification on woman and minority issues lay bare that she had nothing to offer men, especially young ones, outside of vague promises of jobs. In the entire book, the best pitch they could make was the following:

In his sermon, he called on the men in the congregation, in particular, to vote for me. “It takes a real man to support a woman,” he said. Men “who are not intimidated by an educated woman.”

Good luck with that.

She portrays Trump and Vance as bullies, uncouth liars with a frat boy mindset. There’s little theory of mind regarding what made her two opponents tick. As the book gets into full campaign mode, Trump and Vance are running the media cycles while her staff is trying in vain to react as their opponents gleefully suck all the oxygen out of the Harris campaign. While she blames Musk and Fox News for bias (welcome to the party pal), it unintentionally shows the utter domination of the Trump campaign, one of the most well-executed in modern times. Just like Trump stole the show during the campaign, he stole the show in her own book.

While Trump and Vance’s antics sound grating to the average schoolmarm, reading this as a regular guy, they come across as hilarious, succeeding time and time again in getting under her skin. In reaction she impotently pretends Trump is intimidated by her rally sizes, most far smaller than his. All she could do was seethe, and it is glorious.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I was not about to take Trump’s bait. He lies all the time, I told Brian. He throws out outrageous statements to distract from the real issues. “Today he wants me to prove my race. What next? He’ll say I’m not a woman and I’ll need to show my vagina?”

I got into my motorcade, but we weren’t pulling out. I asked Max why we weren’t leaving. That was when I learned we were being held up by J. D. Vance. He was out of his car and walking toward Air Force Two, in violation of every rule of security and protocol. I later learned that he told reporters he was there because “I just wanted to check out my future plane.” Had I known he was pulling that juvenile stunt, I would’ve been inclined to step from my car and use a word I believe best pronounced correctly. It begins with an m and ends with ah.

Trump’s rally was in Greensboro. I’m not sure why it bothered him so much—it was futile to try to get inside his head—but for some reason, he hated the fact that I’d worked at McDonald’s and repeatedly claimed I’d lied about it. When he made the claim again in Greensboro—“She never worked there”—someone in the crowd shouted, “She worked on a corner.” Trump loved that. He laughed and pointed to the guy, encouraging the audience to cheer him. “This place is amazing!” Show him a gutter and he crawled right into it. Meanwhile, I was onstage in Charlotte with a man who seeks to lift people up.

Willie Bown was never mentioned in this book. It’s pretty much an established fact she got her start as a call-girl, so the best she can do is ignore and deflect.

What’s also apparent is she had no conception of a grand strategy and seemed to be whisked away to countless meetings, brunches, and rallies without coming up with an energizing message outside of done-to-death talking points. I also doubt she had control over her own campaign. She seemed to simply comply with whatever her campaign staff wanted her to do. There was no talk about conflicts on where to go, what their priorities should be, or intense strategy sessions. If she was a part of any of this, it isn’t mentioned. As the election neared, she appeared more like a figurehead as actual machinations of power were done outside her view.

It’s also clear the Trump campaign outhustled them. Many of the days consisted of a small gathering and maybe a podcast appearance followed by calling it a day. The Trump team accomplished the same amount before breakfast. It wasn’t as embarrassing as the Biden 2020 campaign, but showed lack of urgency, leaving me to mull whether a lot of conflicts backstage wasted time that never made it in print.

The most damning section, the one that bore raw her weaknesses, was near the end of the book.

Later, I’d have a telling exchange with Charlamagne Tha God, the host of the popular radio show The Breakfast Club. I’ve been on his show many times. Charlamagne is a savvy interviewer with a missionary zeal for reaching Black men and a particular commitment to mental health issues. His show has a radio audience of eight million monthly.

When I appeared on his show, he lit right into me: “You come off very scripted. You stick to your talking points.”

“That would be called ‘discipline,’ ” I retorted.

When he pressed me, I explained that I needed to repeat my messages so that everyone could get to know what I stand for. It’s not especially fun to give the same speech three times a day in three different cities four or five times a week, but it’s necessary.

Trump stood up there and spouted unfiltered nonsense about Hannibal Lecter and electric sharks. He called it “the weave.” I call it nonsense. The double standard on our style of presentation was galling. If I hesitated or backtracked midsentence to try to clarify or better express a thought, it was “word salad.” Meanwhile, Trump could describe Hurricane Florence as “one of the wettest we’ve ever seen, from the standpoint of water.”

Her misunderstanding of Trump’s charisma, and her grating personality when she leaves her robotic, scripted phrases is why she will never be president. As was seen in Rogan’s interview, Trump can move from braggadocious to utterly autistic and back again without missing a beat. It’s real and not manufactured. He is what he is. Harris isn’t capable of that sort of authenticity.

Also, for those wondering why she didn’t give a speech the night of the election, they don’t really adequately explain it. My money is she pulled a Hillary.

To her defense, she did get some punches in, and successfully cleared the record on a few misreported items, but they were slim compared to the avalanche of gaffs coming from her campaign. Some of her rebuttals, like the quote “the only trash I see is Trump supporters” missing an apostrophe and the actual intention being “the only trash I see is Trump supporter’s” is hard to swallow. For those who think her campaign was a joke, this will not change any minds.

I have a signed copy of Sarah Palin’s “Going Rogue” in my library. Contrary to this one, Palin’s was a fish out of water story, going over the McCain campaign’s backbiting and subterfuge along with her foray into an increasingly corrupt media. It was supposed to be a jumping off point for a future in big Washington politics, but it never happened after her VP run. While it wasn’t a bad book, it wasn’t enough to overcome her reputation, deserved or not, as an ignorant hick. Kamala’s book is a similar tale. As much as the book spins the narrative, the disaster of her campaign and her clear weaknesses still remain. She already has a reputation, and this is not going to budge it. If you’re reading this Kamala, it’s hard to break bad news softly, but here is my best attempt:

Kamala, you ignorant slut. It’s so pleasant to not hear that weird cackle that left people scanning for a gingerbread house. Your interviews were as fluid as a stroke, if slightly less intellectually stimulating. I’m sure words came to you easier afterwards as you screamed about joy while downing box wine with one hand and throwing plates at your staff with the other. But don’t worry, you’re a tough, strong woman. That’s why you were surrounded by weak men, clasping their balls to compensate for not having any of your own. You learned this script well, starting your career by getting in bed with old Willie and getting a heel up on the competition. It was fun seeing you chase the presidency with the same glee you get from hearing an unborn baby's brains get sucked out, but the show’s over. Your career and legacy will end just like your womb, an empty, barren wasteland that stifled every attempt at life.

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