by By John Zmirak
Why does that phrase make us happy? Why is its appearance everywhere in the culture more than a grim punchline, but instead an occasion of hope and joy? Some genius like Toby Keith needs to write an upbeat country song with that as the title. I wonder how many Americans are tattooing it on their arms, or naming their newborns “Brandon.” I hope it’s millions.
Someone needs to make a video like this classic, replacing “All Your Base Are Belong to Us” with “Let’s Go, Brandon!”
Bitter laughter we’ve had aplenty, every time Joe “President” Biden forgets his lines, or where he is, or with whom he is talking. Then we cackle with a deep, vindictive glee. You wanted the toughest job on earth, now gag on it, Grandpa Simpson, we say to ourselves. No ice cream for you today.
The Hollowed Out Shell of a Once Mediocre Man
Now, that vents some resentment about this imposter squatting in the White House—this hollowed-out shell of a once mediocre hireling, washed up there by a tsunami of illegal, unchecked ballots, at our oligarchy’s behest. Now they’re stuck with him, and all the crazy promises they made, and the virus panic they unleashed.
When their plans blow up in his face, we snicker. Every time the Bidenist Occupational Government blunders, and another “domestic terrorist” gets exposed as a Fed infiltrator, we flash a smile of steel. We see on Brian Stelter’s colicky baby face the frustrated tantrums that must afflict The Secret Committee Formerly Known As Joe Biden (TSCFAJB, Tuss-KUFF-ka-jab). All those deep state hacks who think they’re a “brain trust,” bungling this goat rodeo, month after month after month. And they know we are laughing at them.
There’s Something About Brandon
But “Brandon” is different. He just straight up makes us . . . joyful, gives us Ryan Reynolds’ carefree smile in “Free Guy.” There’s something about Brandon.
For those of you who missed it, this happy phrase originates with a race at NASCAR. The winning driver, Brandon Brown, gets interviewed by some interchangeable MSM reporter. They both hear the roaring crowd chanting “F— Joe Biden!” over and over again. The journalista responds by saying, chipperly, “Oh look, the crowd supports you. It’s chanting ‘Let’s Go, Brandon!’” The driver looks at her funny, and nods non-committedly. That’s it.
Grandma Can Knit This on Your Christmas Sweater
That little incident has touched America’s heart. Little old ladies who’d never shout obscenities feel perfectly free to use this squeaky-clean phrase at the tops of their lungs, as greetings at church picnics. You can write it on your children’s masks in bright pastel marker, when you send them off to school. Or wear it on a t-shirt the next time you engage in “domestic terrorism” by speaking up at a PTA meeting. When you do, make sure to call critical race theory what it is: Marxism in blackface. Then close with “Let’s go, Brandon!”
Delighted by Truth
In the spirit of Dave Chapelle cutting through the cant, defying his LGBTQMYNAMEISLEGION critics, Brandon zeroes in on the truth. The phony media spin on that NASCAR chant is exactly, exquisitely our current moment. It nails the vast, yawning gap that separates the Bidenist fantasy world from the real one we’re living in.
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As prices shoot up and store shelves empty, half of Haiti somehow appears on the Rio Grande, and China prepares its next war of conquest, our elite fritters and squanders America’s legacy. People who’ve been triple-vaccinated cower in fear of those of us who won’t take it—wait, shouldn’t they be the ones feeling safe? But cower they will, and I say we should pretend to sneeze on such people. Maybe those groundhogs will go back into their homes for another six months.
Mock the Priests of Baal
We’re sick to death of an insanely overhyped pandemic, which blue-state governors turned really deadly by using COVID as euthanasia in nursing homes.
