A Vote For Kamala (The Giant, Not The Giant C)

If racial identity politics are truly in play, we must all cast our ballots for an actual descendant of slaves and not one whose ancestors traded and owned slaves. Your vote, your choice. #NotSatire

Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard. -H.L. Mencken

The legendary Louisiana politician Hale Boggs—the initial lone dissenter for the misguided single gunman theory as a member of The Warren Commission who later and rather remarkably changed his tune to vilify Lee Harvey Oswald—was, like many others of the politics past, elected posthumously. Of course, this being Louisiana and all, there had to be a lagniappe of intrigue with the death of Congressman Boggs in that Alaskan plane crash: the wreckage and bodies of the passengers were never found.

Listen to the Missing in Alaska podcast for more.

Well, if Hale Boggs can be elected after his death, why can’t James Arthur Harris (May 28, 1950 - August 9, 2020) be elected to the highest office in the land after his death?

Mr. Harris, affectionately known by his “Kamala the Giant” moniker in the squared circle, is perhaps best remembered for a level of eloquence comparable to Sir Laurence Olivier and James Baldwin when en kayfabe.

Please watch the following two videos to compare and contrast his command of the English language while in character with that of the presumptive future President of the United States, Kamala Harris (no relation, allegedly).

Actually, Mr. Harris was—indeed—quite articulate in real life, certainly much more so than the cackling, inebriated candidate sans published platform.

Kamala the Giant stood, literally and figuratively, as a mammoth man. And though he used at least sixteen different names and disguises as a pro wrestler, no one ever called him a cuckold like everyone does for Doug Emhoff, that effeminate Jewish beard with the unenchanting, dubiously-gendered daughter Ella.

That Ella greatly resembles the deranged, murderous character “Pooh” from The World According to Garp must not be overlooked.

And unlike the knee-bruising opportunism of the throat-impaling Ms. Harris, James Arthur Harris led an existence of tragedies and circumstances overcome with arduous toil. Raised in Mississippi, his father was shot to death during a dice game. James worked as a sharecropper, briefly tried his hand at burglary, then eventually turned his life around and made his way to Michigan where, as a 6 ft. 7 in. behemoth of 380 pounds, he was introduced to professional wrestling.

He was the father of six children. In 1993, his youngest sister and her stepdaughter were murdered. Mr. Harris would raise and care for his surviving niece until his death. He was a talented musician and wrote over 100 songs; he continued to perform despite losing both of his legs in 2015 due to complications from diabetes.

Mr. Harris penned his autobiography, Kamala Speaks, in 2014. His career in wrestling spanned the entertainment product’s rise from regional obscurity to worldwide recognition. Amongst all of the performers, from heroes to heels, he was one of the most beloved and cherished by both fans and his fellow combatants.

We also know with certainty that he was a real African-American, not an Indian claiming to be one whenever convenient.

The world is still waiting for a similarly-named book from Ms. Harris, perhaps the only presidential candidate in the modern history of the United States who has never been to Europe. And bragged about it, defensively.

I was wrong about Gavin Newsom getting the nomination at the convention in Chicago. That had been my prediction, but I failed to accurately assess the depravity of the power-brokers leading the Democrats who, without a shred of democracy’s merits, selected this farce of a human being without due process (much like the vacillating tough-on-crime then soft-on-crime Ms. Harris treated defendants as the attorney general for California). Frankly, these left-leaning party leadership sycophants are as bad as their counterparts with the Republicans. We should not trust a single one of them on either side, ever.

The fact that I share Irish ancestry with Ms. Harris is also worrisome. But, I’m jealous of her blood, too. I wish I had relatives who were once involved in the slave trade!

Politicians live their own brand of kayfabe. Look at the cheers and adulation from the slogan-chanting masses at the RNC and DNC: is there really much difference in entertainment value with audiences screaming for The Rock or John Cena?

It is fair to say that election results in the United States are now just as orchestrated and predictable as matches in the WWF.

But, there is one positive from which to take solace: at least fans were able to witness the finishing moves of Kamala the Giant.

The closed-door moves of Kamala Harris might just finish the United States.

Vote for Trump. Vote for Kamala.

I’ll be writing-in my absentee ballot for James Arthur Harris (RIP).