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George Will should have been left unemployed and starving ages ago. Newspapers are dying off and people despise the media more than they have ever despised the media—which is saying a lot—and yet here fucking George Will remains, along with the Noonans and Friedmans and Brookses of the world, gainfully employed despite being a worthless, fart-sniffing boob. Try as the world might, we can’t seem to rid ourselves of idiot columnists who make $300,000 just to sit down and invent political trends from looking out the fucking parlor window. The tea leaves tell me that this election will be decided by what I call The Beta Dads.

I don’t get how these people have retained any credibility. It makes me wonder if the Illuminati really DO exist when hundreds of these fuckfaces gather annually at the White House Correspondents Dinner, all seemingly united in an effort to shield Wolf Blitzer from justified ridicule. Wanna know why Trump is stomping a mudhole in the rest of the GOP field? Look at Will’s fucking placeholder column from Sunday:

Republican voters, particularly in Indiana and California, can, by supporting Cruz, make the Republican convention a deliberative body rather than one that merely ratifies decisions made elsewhere some of them six months earlier.

It’s true, because voters don’t deliberate at all. They’re just lever monkeys who cast their ballot by shooting an AK at a wall of candidates while blindfolded. This kind of “We can’t actually take these voting results seriously!” take isn’t Will’s alone. Earlier this spring, Times columnist and ideal hentai porn consumer Ross Douthat essentially said the same shit:

Americans speak and think in the language of democracy, and so these arguments will find an audience, including among party leaders and delegates themselves. But they cut against the deeper wisdom of the American political tradition. The less-than-democratic side of party nominations is a virtue of our system, not a flaw, and it has often been a necessary check on the passions (Trumpian or otherwise) that mass democracy constantly threatens to unleash.

I know! I wish this democracy didn’t have so much DEMOCRACY in it, you know? Once in a while, it’s important to disregard the will of the voters and leave the selection process to people who know BEST. And how do we decide who knows best? Who should be the Mecha Delegates? Well… we’ll just KNOW!

Here’s more of Will…

A convention’s sovereign duty is to choose a plausible nominee who has a reasonable chance to win, not to passively affirm the will of a mere plurality of voters recorded episodically in a protracted process.

God help me, I’m gonna defend Donald Trump here, because he has won more than a mere plurality of his party’s moron voters. In fact, he’s on the verge of breaking the all-time record for primary votes in that party. HMMPH! ‘TIS A MERE PIFFLE! As if having a protracted process somehow invalidates the whole thing. WHOA, HEY, THESE PEOPLE VOTED IN CAREFULLY SCHEDULED STAGES IN WHICH THEY HAD AMPLE TIME TO VET EACH CANDIDATE! We can’t have that! By God, some of these voters wear JEANS, Martha!

The minority of people who pay close attention to politics…

This fucking guy. You know who pays attention to politics in an election year? EVERYONE. Fucking every last grown person knows what the hell is going on. My neighbor isn’t like, “Donald Trump? Nope. Never heard of him. I’m afraid I’ve been sticking to sports this whole time.” Will and his cocktail party ilk are under the remarkably mistaken impression that only THEY understand the ins and outs of this process, all because they went to a Bob Woodward key party. Think about how isolated you have to be to believe this. Think how tight that bowtie must be to cut off the circulation to your crème fraiche brain. Will continues:

…[this] includes those who define an ideal political outcome and pursue it, and those who focus on the worst possible outcome and strive to avoid it. The former experience the excitements of utopianism, the latter settle for prudence’s mild pleasure of avoiding disappointed dreams.

Mmm! Ohh! Oh, such pleasure from all this PRUDENCE! I just wanna beat it into a dish towel, so overwhelmed am I by the prudence.

If Trump is nominated, Republicans working to purge him and his manner from public life will reap the considerable satisfaction of preserving the identity of their 162-year-old party…

You have no identity. I hate to break it to you, but political parties are just hunks of voting beef that drift and adapt their platforms over the course of time in order to remain in power. If anything, your party’s identity today is that of a bunch of corrupt, racist, gun-toting kiddie diddlers who would block Congress just to keep them from building a goddamn road. That’s your brand, amigo. That’s why your boy Trump is winning. Don’t fan yourself and act surprised that this is your crooked party’s handiwork. You’re not above it. You’re the dime-store professor they trot out to make this all sound respectable, and you do a lousy job of it.

If Clinton gives her party its first 12 consecutive White House years since 1945, Republicans can help Nebraska Sen. Ben Sasse, or someone else who has honorably recoiled from Trump, confine her to a single term.

So true. If you don’t like the result of something, and you think you know better, you should spend all your time blocking the will of the majority. Great idea. Really fucking served us well the past eight years.

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A train full of lye just derailed in this town. The Metro is gonna shut down for six months. Everyone in Flint is drinking lead sewage. Portland and Seattle are gonna fall into the goddamn ocean. And here’s George Will—asshole fuckface clown George Will—sitting there with his thumb in his ass and demanding that history stop a little bit longer. I hope a Trump voter keys your BMW, you twit.