Two days out and all the signs are good. Kamala was on SNL last night looking gleeful, possibly having just heard she was ahead in Iowa. The monumental self-own that was That Fucking Guy’s MSG rally continues to reverberate across the nation. And yesterday Bobby Kennedy went after Mountain Dew and mayonnaise; it’s hard to see how that’s going to play well with any demographic anywhere.

It seems inconceivable that anyone who’s made up their minds over the last two weeks — assuming that mythical creature they call the “undecided voter” actually exists — has decided for TFG. Then again, it’s inconceivable to me that anyone wants to vote for him, period. Maybe that word doesn’t mean what I think it means.

All the polls continue to show the overall race as a dead heat. I think, I hope, I pray that they are wrong and that come Tuesday there’s going to be a butt-whoopin, that the naughty shall be smitten and nice rewarded. That is what my feelings are telling me, but then again, fuck my feelings. This is serious business.

Hope is good. But fear, after all, is a man’s best friend.