Editor's Note: Despite the author's contention that he'd "be damned if I'm going to write more than one of these things per week you blood sucking vermin!", we were able to goad a short special edition after the results of last night's Indiana Primary for which we are extremely grateful.
It is tragic but somehow fitting that Ted Cruz's homeland was literally on fire at the same time that his campaign was being burned to the ground metaphorically - like he'd finally cracked the secret of some Bad Sorcery just in time to project his own demise through space and time. It certainly feels like the kind of thing that human turdbag would do. The images coming out of Fort McMurray are like some place unearthly and terrible, and that there are still no casualties reported yet could be the first piece of good news all year.
We are all bereft. Discordia, you fickle tease, you've left us with a Trump nomination without even a fun convention: The holdouts have surrendered and the last vestiges of the old Republican Party are being swept away. The GOP now belongs to Donald Trump; whether it will survive that ordeal or not remains to be seen.
The phony war is over now, bub, and the real Blitzkrieg is about to begin: 2016 will be a contest to see whose negative numbers drive down their turnout the least. On one side stands Clinton with a massive war chest, the steely eyed glare of someone who has been waiting for "her turn" for a thousand generations, and a capacity for ruthlessness that could make your blood run cold. On the other is the biggest reality show circus in history peddling the kind of populist venom Americans always pretend they don't like, but to which they have long been debilitatingly addicted.
If the stage is set, so be it. Everybody take a breath before we dive into the next act.
