A Duck With Two Working Legs

If I'm Joe Biden at this point, what exactly is stopping me from going entirely off the leash? And I mean that kind of literally on the small scale of potentialities here, go ahead and bring back Commander, your evil German shepherd with a taste for the flesh of Secret Service agents. I was always skeptical of the idea that you had to go hunt down a tiger or a shark or whatever that had eaten a human because they'd tasted the long pig and would now be either unwilling or unable to resist its too-palatable allure, but this dog's iron-cast insistence on continuing to pick apart his minders and agents of the federal government one snapped-at mouthful at a time has changed my mind. You know they explained to him the consequences of his actions, and still he persisted, despite knowing full well he'd eventually be shipped off to fucking Delaware. That's dedication.

I get it, the main impediment for Biden really getting out there and laying into the electorate, the media and special interests to secure some last-minute wins or settle some old scores now that he's in his Legacy Era with nothing left to run for, is the same thing that got him out of the race in the first place: physically, he's what the medical profession calls "doddering." At this point, his primary care provider is an anthropologist. They're timing his pulse with an hourglass. I'm saying he's old, people. It's difficult to crush your enemies, drive them before you and hear the lamentation of their women when participating in one debate leaves you spent. That would be three things to get done! We don't have those kinds of energy reserves! I know "hear the lamentation of their women" sounds kind of passive, but that's the bread-and-butter of politics. Listening to the lamentation of some women is how you secure the Democratic voting base. Listening to the lamentation of your enemies' women, well, that's how you maybe put Florida in play in a post-Dobbs environment.

But you can't spell Joementum without "Joement" and I think Biden is aware that this is his. He's out here talking about the cancer moonshot again. He's out here kung-fu chopping prescription drug prices for Medicare recipients. And yeah, he only made it as far as Maryland, but he's out here doing campaign appearances with his successor, Vice President Harris, soaking up non-condescending cheers of real affection. Does it sting a bit to hear what rightfully should have been your campaign crowd chanting "thank you, Joe!" in gratitude for you agreeing to be forced out of the race? Probably, sure. But the weight  has lifted off a pair of shoulders that everyone can see are a little more sloped, a little less broad than they once were.

What awaits President Joseph R. Biden III in the near future is a formal, final evaluation of 50 years of dedicated public service, in the Senate, as vice president and as the Man Himself. He'll be able to bask in what in the short term will certainly be a lionization of his act of political sacrifice, then the full realization of the effectiveness of his administration as an advocacy platform for progressive causes and the American people in general. It will be a legacy capped off with the energy (ironically enough) of a first term, not tailing off into the kind of redundant afterthought of second term entropy, spinning apart without the focusing lens of a future re-election bid.

He can retreat and retire, for however many years he has left, his historical position secured, for good or ill, the Cincinnatus of Rehoboth Beach, on the porch swing with his aviator sunglasses, he and Jill sharing a raspy laugh as they watch the dogs bite whoever the fuck they want.