He’s gone. The dream is over. Spartacus is now hanging from a cross along the Appian Way waiting for Varinia and Batiatus to show him baby Spartacus Junior as they head off to freedom while he dies horribly and painfully. Okay, it’s not exactly like that but I do enjoy making fun of Booker.
We still have Bernie and Creepy Uncle Joe and Fauxcahantas but it’s just not the same. Booker was the whole package. He was sexually ambivalent, unauthentically black, delusional about what America wanted, he had bug eyes and a funny voice. He had so much to give.
We’ll muddle through without him. We’ll remember all the great moments during the debates when he told us all about slavery reparations and green new deals and billions and trillions and maybe someday quadrillions of dollars that the government would shower on people who didn’t want to work. We’ll go on, but we’ll never be that young again.
But I’m really still in denial. I keep thinking maybe he’ll come back as a running mate or maybe he could become an announcer for the WWE or maybe he could replace Jussie Smollett on Empire. But no it will not be. He’s gone. I’ve reached the final stage, acceptance.
Okay, I’m good. Now let me listen to how Iran is self-destructing after President Trump delivered a haymaker to their regime’s credibility.