Liz Warren to join tribe of losers

One thing that the Democrats can do to assure Donald Trump’s reelection in 2020:

Nominate somebody from Massachusetts.

Virginia used to be called the Mother of Presidents. Massachusetts is the Mother of Presidential Losers.

I mention this today in the wake of a sycophantic, fawning cover story in New York magazine declaring that the fake Indian, Sen. Elizabeth Warren, is now “the de facto leader of the Democratic party>”

To which Trump has got to be saying, Dirty Harry-like, “Go ahead, make my day.”

What is it with the national Democrats’ fascination with Massachusetts?

Look at the record: Ted Kennedy, Mike Dukakis, Paul Tsongas, John Kerry. Fool me once shame on you, fool me four times, five times… what’s up with that?

But they’re swooning over the fake Indian. I couldn’t get through the interminable 500,000-word story in New York, but here are some phrases I pulled out of the early going, culled from a rally earlier this month in Natick:

“In constant motion… she rocks on her or rises to her tiptoes… she’ll beat her chest… speaks so passionately that she gets winded and throws a fist in the air… she kicked her feet out in front of her… She appears to have committed her whole body to the effort.”

Sounds like the Natick police should have taken her into protective custody.

“She was striding purposefully… unspooling deft yarns… memorably disemboweled….”

Haven’t I read this hagiography somewhere before? This is the sort of incontinent, slobbering prose you usually find in the Boston Globe. And indeed, the fake Indian is recycling some of her favorite Globe clichés yet again, like growing up at “the ragged edges of the middle class,” which is not to be confused with the “jagged” edges of middle class, which occasionally she has also claimed to have grown up on.

Yes, it was a hardscrabble existence in Oklahoma circa 1965. Her family had to make do with only three cars. Sometimes it was so tough on the reservation that she had to drive the third vehicle – a white MG sports car – to high school.

In the magazine story, we are also reunited with those recurring staples of Globe puff pieces about the fake Indian: Bailey, her new puppy, and Otis, her dead dog, whose passing she never mentioned on the campaign trail in 2012 “for fear that saying it aloud would lead her to start crying and never stop.”

Because, you know, no one else has ever owned a dog and been heartbroken when it died.

My favorite part of the story is the pro forma tiptoeing around the fake Indian angle. Here it is brushed aside in a mention of Trump calling her Pocahontas – “in reference to her claim as a young law professor from Oklahoma that she was part Cherokee.”

And… that’s… it. After all, she was “young” when she lied, and it, like, wasn’t murder or anything, so it’s now, uh, outside the statute of limitations to bring it up, totally. As a matter of fact, to even point out that a white woman has claimed to be a Native American for the purpose of getting an affirmative slot is… “reliably racist.”

Just ask New York magazine.

But she is definitely running. One thing the simpering scribe doesn’t bother to mention is that the Natick event included hay bales – how Iowa is that? Hay bales!

I can’t wait until she takes her schtick on the road. Maybe, like Mike Dukakis in Iowa, she can condescendingly tell the farmers to start growing Belgian endives. Perhaps, like John Kerry in Ohio, she can go into a general store and ask, “Can I get me a hunting license here?”

Or maybe, like Ted Kennedy everywhere, she can go out and get rip-roaring drunk and start grabbing waitresses and bellowing, “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

Of course the fake Indian won’t be the only Democrat with her own cult. The same day the Warren thumbsucker appeared, the Washington Post had its own story about the sighting of an apparition, this one of St. Hillary in Central Park last Sunday.

Hillary materialized wearing a tent at the Ozy Fest, although I didn’t see Ozzy Osbourne anywhere. According to the Post, the attendees were “getting their charts read by an astrologist wearing a feathered Mohawk headdress.”

A Mohawk headdress? Could it have been Elizabeth Warren, at the Hillary Fest, wearing native garb?

Is there anything this fake Indian can’t do?