Well, with her hot sauce and blackface, she would win and save we taxpayers tons of money we spend on Joe’s Depends.

What gets you about the Democratic Party is the nose their voters have for the worst options.

In 2020, they had among those who declared a candidacy four men who had founded lucrative businesses (one of whom had a record as a public executive as well), one man who had time under his belt as a state governor and corporation executive, and a state governor with a history of appealing to red state electorates. They took a glance at Michael Bloomberg and ignored the rest. The candidates who interested them were a corporate-lawyer-turned-prosecutor-turned-member-of-Congress with a history of abusing subordinates, a walking resume with an indifferent record as a small city mayor (appended to him a butt-buddy who goosed him about his affection for $35 tubes of moisturizer), a Trotskist member of Congress who actually found his vocation as a small city mayor after a young adult life of failure, a quondam law professor whose career advancement was crucially dependent on affirmative-action fraud, and a dope-motormouth whose corruption and sociopathy were as grossly manifest as any among politicians in Washington. They preferred the pay-for-play boss.

In 2016, the only competitive candidates were Lady Macbeth (whose legal career had been entirely dependent on her husband being a consequential office-holder and who was known to have a monstrous foul-mouthed temper) and the aforementioned Trotskyist.

In 2008, you had seven candidates declared, of whom their voters ignored four (including the only experience executive among them). Their preferred candidates were Lady Macbeth, a skeevy and oleaginous trial lawyer who had made himself wealthy via the use of junk science, and a gaseous fellow who had had a simulacrum of an adult life.

In 2004, their voters actually took an interest in two men who had some personal accomplishment, but eventually nominated the hollow Mr. Kerry (who did compare favorably to the sociopathic Mr. Edwards).

In 2000 and 1992 they selected nearly the worst among the options they had (which were better options than they’ve had since, to be sure).

You go all the way down to the street level, you discover that Democratic voters are no longer people who value anything admirable or even serviceable. Maybe they were in 1990, but that was then. A Democratic voter at the 50th percentile in age in 1990 is now at the 90th percentile.

Biden isn’t gone yet and Harris is the natural successor (although even less electable). The attempt to replace Kamala with the Hildebeest would lead to a girl-fight without precedent (and a three-way battle if you count “Doctor” Jill defending hubby) and without principle. The George Floyd crowd will start a second Great Chicago fire if Harris is replaced (unless she leaves voluntarily) and then demand another black female shrieking leftist.
The Democrats are caught between running a marginally electable candidate they really don’t like or a completely unelectable candidate only some of them will like. All the Joe Manuchins are dead, retired or have left them.

The George Floyd crowd will start a second Great Chicago fire if Harris is replaced (unless she leaves voluntarily) and then demand another black female shrieking leftist.
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A prerequisite for a riot is the mysterious appearance of pallettes of bricks beforehand followed by armies of lawyers afterward.

Harris is black only in the sense that she managed to join a sorority at Howard University, then put in time as Willie Brown’s sidepiece. It’s possible that James Clyburn can generate enough of a ruckus to stimulate others, I suppose. Her constituency is Clyburn, not the black rank and file.