It’s hard to find the words to describe how depressing last night’s presidential debate was.

For the record, I like Joe Biden. I think he’s been a good president and is fundamentally a decent man. I don’t mind that he’s 81 years old — what I mind is that he looked like a deer in the headlights for the entire 90 minutes, struggling to complete a sentence while his opponent glibly and confidently spouted an endless stream of lies.

That man — the orange one, don’t make me say his name — cannot become president again. I can’t take it.

It’s not just what he’ll do — which is bad enough, and who can even say how bad it will actually be — but what he represents. He’s tapped into the darkness of the American soul in a way that feels almost occult. It’s a bit hard to conceive of him as a maleficent mage, given what a fucking goofball he is, with the bronzer and the hair and the long ties. But then again, as Lon Chaney said, there’s nothing funny about a clown in the moonlight.

What really scares me is how many of my fellow citizens are willing to jump on that train to hell. As Kris Kristofferson said, don’t you know he’s the devil? Don’t you know he doesn’t keep his deals?

At this point the question may be moot. It is entirely likely that the darkness, once unleashed, will survive even his demise — which, I keep reminding myself, can come at any time. He is also very old! He eats junk food and doesn’t exercise! His life is very stressful! How long before the Stark Fist of Removal comes for him?

What a happy thought! And look, the sun has broken through the clouds. Time to go out and cheer the hell up. In truth I already feel a bit better for having vented a bit. Live long and prosper, people.