No doubt. With the help of Putin ... again ... he COULD win

That time CNN admitted Collusion story was fake that libs pretend didn't happen

https://www.createdebate.com/debate/show/That timeCNNadmittedCollusionstorywasfakethatlibspretenddidnthappen

Because everyone knows Trump to be such a paragon of virtue...

'The president put “his own political interests” ahead of “U.S. national interests,” Bolton writes, “not just on trade questions but across the whole field of national security.” Virtually every decision, according to Bolton, was “driven by re-election calculations.” Trump’s behavior with Russia and Ukraine substantiates that indictment. So does his collusion with China.'

https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2020/06/bolton-book-trump-china-election.html

Right. We can't say how or why we think this

Oh, but I can. He has spent his entire adult life lying and cheating, the WP has busted him on over 18,000 lies in the past four years alone, he publicly refused to respect the democratic process if he lost, and he has spent the past several months accusing Democrats of what he clearly plans to do himself.

In other words, please stop inventing your own fake facts. It's annoying.

Right. We can't say how or why we think this, or how it would even be done, but it will be because we leftists prophecy it...

Sometimes a child will stare out of a window

for a moment or an hour—deciphering

the future from a dusky summer sky.

Does he imagine that some wisp of cloud

reveals the signature of things to come?

Or that the world’s a book we learn to translate?

And sometimes a girl stands naked by a mirror

imagining beauty in a stranger's eyes

finding a place where fear leads to desire.

For what is prophecy but the first inkling

of what we ourselves must call into being?

The call need not be large. No voice in thunder.

It's not so much what's spoken as what's heard—

and recognized, of course. The gift is listening

and hearing what is only meant for you.

Life has its mysteries, annunciations,

and some must wear a crown of thorns. I found

my Via Dolorosa in your love.

And sometimes we proceed by prophecy,

or not at all—even if only to know

what destiny requires us to renounce.

O Lord of indirection and ellipses,

ignore our prayers. Deliver us from distraction.

Slow our heartbeat to a cricket's call.

In the green torpor of the afternoon,

bless us with ennui and quietude.

And grant us only what we fear, so that

Underneath the murmur of the wasp

we hear the dry grass bending in the wind

and the spider's silken whisper from its web.