Midterm

For my midterm project, I looked at statistics and datasets revolving around sunflowers. Some questions I had were: Where do they grow best in the United States? How many are typically harvested…

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A Hypothetical Eulogy for Ron DeSantis

The deceased, God bless his hypothetical soul.
Via @CaseyDeSantis on Twitter.

Ron DeSantis is gone now, and I am much happier for it. That isn’t exactly true, on several counts: one, Ron DeSantis is very much alive; two, Ron DeSantis is running for President of these United States; three, I am left poorer spiritually by this monster’s emergence from the Florida bogs whence he spawned. Poorer spiritually, yes — but contented. For if Ron DeSantis’ rise to political stardom is my loss, his inevitable collapse will be my gain, and that satisfies me.

Ron DeSantis is gone now, and his life was a joke. He was Italian and lived up to the perfect profile of a lifelong disgraziato, an offender of not just the law but our sense of values. He brought it on himself by cavorting with female students at parties as a high school teacher, then by directly overseeing the torture of detainees, at least some of them wrongfully held, at Guantanamo Bay in the Navy.

Speaking of the Navy, seamen are often buried at sea. DeSantis should be fed to sharks in the Florida Keys, as I find most abhorrent the thought that Ron DeSantis should ever be on American soil again. He belongs to the sharks and the fishes. His remains will be the guts and viscera of a man who on his last day was sent shrieking to the rocks and cliffs, fleeing with terror from those he spent his whole life oppressing and bullying.

It is quite fitting that Ron DeSantis’ last gesture to the American people was his 2024 presidential campaign, a move so craven and pathetic that his to-be constituents could only laugh. Ron DeSantis fucked up our values even worse than the last Florida Swine we had in the White House.

His campaign was doomed from the beginning and we all should have seen it. I admit I feared that he would win the election, or at least secure the GOP nomination, but my fears were allayed by his clear mental blockage. Reports abounded about his complete lack of social intelligence, perhaps the one skill truly required for the sort of retail politicking that rising to the presidency requires. He ate chocolate pudding with three fingers. Still images of his face contorted into the most bizarre expressions dotted Twitter. Trump called him Meatball Ron.

Then he announced his candidacy, as if God wasn’t sending him a message to stop. The Great American Comeback was delayed by a 20-minute technical SNAFU on a live Twitter Spaces conversation with Elon Musk. With the full knowledge that he would have to win over median voters tired of red-meat-culture-war issues, he attacked Trump for his token support for the LGBTQ+ community. In a spectacle reminiscent of Michael Dukakis riding in a tank, DeSantis posted in front of a taxpayer-funded helicopter and compared himself to Tom Cruise from the Top Gun movies.

It was all bullshit, and the voters saw through it. Even the press did, for once. His sexual perversion, war crimes and bullshit posturing earned him no friends and even less votes. There’s nothing much to even say about his tenure in Congress or as Governor of Florida, because it was all bullshit at the end of the day. He was scum and I’m glad he’s dead.

Ron DeSantis had no friends and no associates to speak of, because they all deserted him. They could not stand to be around someone someone so sottish, stupid, stubborn, worthless, and brutish lest they suffer permanent brain damage.

Ron DeSantis refuses to leave us, even in death, but we have left him. We have not let go of his horrific politics, though we have let his personage sink into the Florida bogs whence he spawned. Perhaps that is the real sin here. Like the reprobate he was, Ron DeSantis killed America, which we have accepted. But by refusing to totally excise the cancer that is his legacy, we will kill ourselves.

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