If Bumbling Bonehead Biden had been Hamlet giving a press conference soliloquy:

Where’m I s’posed to be? What was the question?

(Right.)

Wither is colder, and this time, and you suffered

Um, the things, you know, of our nation’s fortunes . . .

(Shut up, Barry, I am!)

The farms and . . . and, you see, the rubles.

We oppose, um, them, you know, the guy, the creep.

Corn Pop! Ha, ha!

(No more? Fine.)

Why don’t we just leap to the end?

Say, honey, are those your natural locks?

That’s a fresh hairdo! You’re 12?

(Okay, Barry, okay!)

Um, in our consumer nation,

I doubt we drggel-vabble doobee . . . Fish!

And today I’ll keep . . . I mean, I’ll sleep . . .

Guess what, Nance? I had a dream! I was back in the pool where the kids used to rub . . .

(Okay, okay! Sheesh! Where was I?)

Oh. Foreign aid dee-glrb in theft might seem . . . Hey, come on, man!

We’re not in trouble buying all this foreign oil!

(What?)

Okay, first lib gus pause hairs blurggle pecks, I mean––ha, ha––let’s pause and give respect,

To a man who lost his wife––his life!

Hey! Who’s that back there swearin’ and sayin’ shit? What horny crimes?

(No, I can’t ignore him.)

Okay, this presser’s all wrong. The crowd, man! I’m leaving. Kamala!

What a bunch of dog-faced pony soldiers! They’ll rue the day!

Kamala! Heels up, girl! You’re on.

(No, I’m not goin’ back up there, Barry. I don’t have to do what you say. I’m the king of the black people!)