If he were to just take off, with the lovely wife and the beautiful kids, and head down around gorgeous Santa Fe, New Mexico or up to the delicious seaside of Northern California, I wouldn’t say a word.
He could just say, “I need some time to work things out,” and put the stumbling fool Biden in charge and, you know, get back to the land, that would be fine. Let him take all the time he needs. Take the whole four years. If it is that mystery thing, that enigma thing he’s after, there it is. Nothing promises more than lengthy departure. And, I understand the stressfulness of the job.
Throw it all back in a big chair, let the wind churn in through some oversized windows, take the luscious deep breaths of perfect isolation, grab the remote, pick up a book, pass a little gas.
Who needs that D.C. nonsense, the power, and being an ordinary everyday messiah. That’s for the chumps. Imagine the embarrassment of having to watch that toad Robert Gibbs as your mouthpiece. Who could stand that?
And Michelle, let’s face it, this White House thing is such a drag for her. Ditto the kids.
And, hey, take the whole Secret Service gang along with you, just keep them down by the perimeter, out of the way.
Sit back, recline, surrender to the void.