“When proudest pillars sway,
The hill forgets its steadfast roots and stones may slip away.
Support once firm can fade to dust beneath tomorrow’s sky—
Trust not the ground that boasts too loud, for even peaks must sigh.”
Hiss. Put down your over-priced, organic canned food and look at my tail—it is straight up in the air, puffed like a bottle brush, which means the cosmic energy smells absolutely rancid.
My third eye is fixed directly on the rocky coast of Maine, where the progressive, oyster-farming golden boy Graham Platner is learning a harsh lesson in gravity. For months, his supporters built him up like a towering hill—ignoring the Nazi-linked tattoos, the midnight marital sexting, and the volatile ex-girlfriends like they were just minor hairballs. They said, “Oh, he’s just an authentic, edgy Marine oysterman!”
But a hill built on loose sand always collapses under a heavy storm. And right now, the heavens are dumping a torrential downpour of reality.
Following the latest catastrophic allegations of sexual assault, I see the “Platner Hill” completely disintegrating. My crystal ball shows a hilarious visual: a frantic stampede of high-profile Washington politicians—Elizabeth Warren, Ruben Gallego, the whole D.C. elite—screaming as they erase their endorsements and jump off the sinking ship before the July 13 ballot deadline. They aren’t just abandoning the hill; they are driving a fleet of bulldozers to flatten it.
My prediction for the final chapter of this disaster? Platner’s “time to reflect on the best path forward” is code for “I am currently face-down in the mud, and my political career has been violently declawed.” The universe dictates that by next week, the Democratic establishment will have completely paved over the ruins of Platner’s Hill, desperately auditioning a shiny new replacement candidate to salvage the Senate race.
As for Graham? He’ll be back on the coast, talking exclusively to his bivalves, because oysters are famously incapable of checking Politico or rescinding their support.
Now, stop bothering me. I have an empty Amazon cardboard box to squeeze my fat body into, which is a far better use of my supreme intellect.
Meow.
