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The Styx-Spencer Yawn-a-thon

It was billed as "The Battle of the Century," "The Clash of Titans" -- "The Great Debate that was going to literally stop the world spinning on its axis and redefine reality itself."

All this and more.

In one corner was a malnourished man in a bathrobe, backed up by his trusty Dutch cat. In the other the leader of the small damp sticky patch formerly known as the Alt-Right, morally supported by his "Village People" moustache.

Surely with two such towering "geniuses of gesticulation," two redoubtable "samurai of the spoken word," the sparks would fly, leading to endless illumination and excitement.

But no! Instead of a torrent of edgy takes and seminal ideas, all we got was tired old boomertard tropes about whether the GOP was more "based" than the Dems and hairsplitting about Joe Biden's senility.

Yes, these so-called "Demagogues of the Dissident Right" were going round in ever-decreasing circles on whether January 6th was a demo or a mini-coup, and what would happen in the midterms.

In a discussion of such depressing banality there was only one clear winner -- my sleep!

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