Toward the end of his speech in Philadelphia on Tuesday, newly minted Democratic vice presidential candidate Tim Walz cracked a joke about his GOP counterpart, J.D. Vance, having intercourse with a couch. (It's a long story, don't ask.) "These guys are creepy and weird as hell," the Minnesota governor said of Republicans. The assembled crowd, which just moments earlier was chanting about sending Donald Trump to prison, went wild.
And so the Democratic Party introduced its presidential ticket to the world. The revised version, anyway, hardly two weeks after President Joe Biden, 81, announced his involuntary withdrawal from the race and endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris as his chosen successor. "Good evening, Philadelphia," Harris said between cackles. "Good evening, good evening, good evening. Good evening, everyone, good evening. Good evening."
The pair was preceded, somewhat awkwardly, by the man Harris almost picked. Josh Shapiro, the Jewish governor of Pennsylvania, delivered a well-honed Barack Obama impersonation that included a subtle dig at the unsavory anti-Semitic elements of his party's base, whose "concern" regarding his "views," in the words of ABC News, likely played a role in Harris's decision. "I lean on my family and I lean on my faith, which calls me to serve," he said, straight to camera. "And I am proud of my faith."
Noticeably absent from the festivities was Biden, who has long credited Philadelphia, a city in Pennsylvania, with boosting his decades-long career as a U.S. senator from the state of Delaware. He wasn't just physically absent from the stage on Tuesday. The president was hardly mentioned. Walz made an implicit reference to Biden when he thanked Harris for "bringing back the joy." The crowd knew what he meant. Democrats and their supporters were demoralized after months of feigning enthusiasm for a man in obvious cognitive decline. Now they now longer have to pretend—as Walz himself did just last month—that Biden was fit to serve.
Unburdened by the geezer in the White House, and the need to compete in a primary election, Harris and Walz sought to portray themselves as a couple of normal middle-class Americans who love freedom, especially or perhaps exclusively the freedom to have an abortion. Having established herself, in the eyes of an adoring media, as the bearer of limitless joy, Harris highlighted Walz's prior career as a teacher and football coach. She touted his sharpshooting skills as well as his service in the Army National Guard—24 years until his retirement on the eve of the Iraq War. "He really does shine a light on a brighter future we can build together," she said, whatever that means.
Walz, whose selection was widely praised by anti-Semitic lawmakers and pundits, attacked Republicans for being anti-freedom. "Mind your own damn business," said the governor who established a taxpayer-funded phone line in Minnesota so liberal scolds could snitch on their neighbors who refused to wear masks outside. For some reason, Walz declined to discuss his record of standing by and promising to "listen" while looters and rioters burned his cities to the ground in 2020.
Harris and Walz have three months left to persuade American voters they are normal, which means hoping their supporters in the mainstream media won't scrutinize them too thoroughly. Judging by Tuesday's coverage of the Walz announcement, which featured an endless parade of journalists fawning over the "cuddly" governor's "folksy" demeanor, they have every reason to be optimistic.
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