When I think of Kamala, a couple of words come to mind. Her politics are “leftist” (or, a variant, “communist”). As for Kamala herself, the word is “empty.” Like Gertrude Stein’s Oakland, there is no “there there.” Take away Kamala’s script, and all that’s left is an empty vessel. It was no surprise, therefore, that when Kamala’s teleprompter glitched during a rally in Flint, Michigan, Kamala’s brain did, too.

In the lead-up to the glitch, Kamala had been talking about the fact that Magic Johnson, a promiscuous athlete with a mentally ill son,* had endorsed her. The text of Kamala’s speech had her raving about the coincidence that Johnson’s jersey had the number 32, while there are 32 days left until the election.

The glitch (X screen grab).

Everything was going great...it was magic, if you will...until, suddenly, the magic died. Kamala’s Teleprompter stopped rolling.

You might want to watch the video on mute first just to appreciate the look of sheer panic on Kamala’s face. Then, put the sound on to appreciate the vapid riff in which she engages as she desperately waits for technology to save her:

It begins, of course, with Kamala happily rockin’ along: “Remember his number? Thirty-two? Today, we got 32 days until the election.”

It’s all so cool. It’s so fun. Look at that happy smile.

Suddenly, Kamala’s head stops the rhythmic left-right swing of all Teleprompter readers. The happy grin freezes into the rictus grin of a corpse. You can practically hear Kamala thinking, “Come on! Start rolling! Oh, sh*t! It’s not rolling. Now, what do I do?”

At this moment, you’d think that Kamala would swing into a prepared shtick, one she’s giving hundreds of times before. But Kamala is a programmed automaton. She cannot adapt quickly to situations because she has limited native intelligence.

It’s only very slowly (because seconds is a lifetime in life political performances) that Kamala’s mouth starts moving, with help from the crowd. “So, 32 days.”

That’s a good start. Then comes a little repetition, like a musician vamping.

“32 days.”

Having set up her predicated, Kamala’s ready to move on.

“Okay, we got some business to do.”

Hmm. Now what? Well, how about another repeat?

“We got some business to do.”

And what was that magical number? Oh, yeah.

“All right, 32 days.”

Then, as if Kamala’s brain has finally clicked into gear, or the Teleprompter/security blanket is back, the rote words start flowing. “And we know. We will do it. And, and this is going to be a very tight race...”

What you just witnessed is a slow brain at work. And after 3.75 years of Biden in the White House, I can assure you that the one thing we don’t want is someone with a slow brain, especially one attached to a communist.

Watching Kamala flailing about I naturally thought of the movie Anchorman. Famously, Ron Burgundy, the main character in that movie, is utterly dependent on the Teleprompter. Wherever it goes, he goes:

But while Ron Burgundy was the dumbest, dimmest bulb in the box, somewhere in there was a moral person who could grow beyond the limitations of the Teleprompter. The same cannot be said of Kamala Harris, the woman who would be president.

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*I have to admit that, given the mental illness that Magic’s son shows, I wonder how truthful Magic was when he insisted that the hundreds of sexual contacts that led to his AIDS diagnosis were entirely heterosexual. But that’s neither here nor there.