When Donald Trump first started polling in with his support at 20%, I tweeted to his account, "you had to borrow money from your father for your casino," which in translation means the electorate supporting him doesn't look too closely at how Donald Trump makes a living. Hitherto this assessment, I've taken a rather mercurial pleasure in the stomach cramps he's given to the fourth estate, but this doesn't mean I think he's good for the country. Fareed Zakaria may admonish angry reactionism by asserting that Trump cannot restore the US to what it was, and may be right even if he is often too generic to take seriously. Jennifer is finally closing in on what the media should have been doing about Trump, which is to ask what the fuck has he done other than make contracts? Not much.
I've been reading Jennifer's output for awhile, a few years at least. She is cool to libertarian sentiment, which may mean she's sexually content; she's reasonably hardline, rightly remains suspicious of the ongoing "Iranian revolution," doesn't have any of the glaring demerits of the Clinton biography (Kenneth Starr's report). She's female. Her election would be historic. Wapo's power and street credibility would take a quantum leap. Post election headlines would scream for days: Disability Journalist drafts Jennifer Rubin campaign singlehandedly
And voila. The woman gives me a second tier cushy policy position, scolds me that addressing people with "fuck you!" is not a lead for how Julie Andrews vocalizes chords in The Sound of Music, and between Rubin, Merkel, and I, all our male colleagues wind up emasculated in terror, a new age of Pax Romana ensues before you even know what hit you.
Leers menacingly.
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