Senator John Neely Kennedy,
Earlier this week, you went on national television, summoned the name of Jesus, and then abandoned the sentence like a possum drops its young when the headlights hit. Not since Judas has someone bailed on the Lord with such dramatic timing.
Let’s recall your exact words:
“Jesus loves them, but everybody else thinks—everybody else…”
That’s it. That’s the whole thing. You stopped mid-thought like your brain hit a pothole and your soul rolled out the passenger door.
We’re not exaggerating when we say this moment now lives in the Smithsonian of political brain farts. In real time, you went from fire-and-brimstone zinger machine to a televangelist’s Etch A Sketch after a hard shake. You froze so hard the Rapture checked your vitals. The stillness was biblical. Even Larry Kudlow — a man whose facial muscles haven’t moved since the Bush administration — had to stammer, “I guess we had some more technical problems.” No, Larry. That wasn’t technical. That was divine intervention.
What happened, John? Did Jesus cut the mic? Did the Holy Spirit hit you with a timeout? Was it the Second Coming or just the second stroke of the week?
You looked like a deer baptized in static. Mouth open. Eyes blank. The Spirit was willing but your synapses were doing donuts in a Walmart parking lot. The fact that you didn’t collapse into a pile of Confederate flag embroidery and pork rind dust is a miracle in itself.
But this wasn’t just a senior moment. This was something worse — this was you trying to drop some folksy “Jesus loves them but” clapback about immigrants, only to get spiritually curb-stomped by the very savior whose name you tried to weaponize.
Because let’s be clear: Jesus never said “love thy neighbor unless they speak Spanish.” He didn’t say “I was a stranger and you built a wall.” He didn’t tell Mary and Joseph to fill out a TPS report. The Christ you invoked with that half-baked soundbite was not the one from scripture — it was the fever-born lovechild of Ann Coulter’s blog and a torn page from Leviticus she keeps under her pillow for emotional support.
And the way you trailed off — “everybody else thinks… everybody else…” — was like watching a cassette tape melt in real time. Did your Oxford education hiccup? Did your homespun hokum finally catch fire from the inside?
We’ve seen this before, Senator. We remember McConnell’s silent stare into the abyss — a man frozen so long we thought Windows was asking if he wanted to update. But you? You brought theatrics to it. You turned a potential stroke into a holy glitch, like Jesus personally hit pause on your sentence and said: “Not today, John. Not in my name.”
And poor Larry Kudlow. Poor bastard looked like he was watching someone drown in a puddle of their own metaphors. He stared into the camera like a hostage whose captor had just passed out from heatstroke. And still, he tried to act like this was normal — like you didn’t just make the entire country question whether divine prophecy now comes with lag.
So we ask you now — plainly, urgently, and with whatever patience we can scrape from the floor of this broken democracy:
WHAT. THE HELL. WERE YOU GOING TO SAY?
Finish the sentence, Senator. What does “everybody else” think? That immigrants are criminals? That Jesus should show his birth certificate? That you’re a walking catfish fry of anti-intellectual sludge?
You owe us. Not because we care what you think, but because we sat through the silence. We endured it. We stared into the dark maw of your folksy malfunction, and we deserve the punchline.
Or else we’re submitting you to the Guinness Book of World Records for “Longest Recorded Pause in a Sentence About Jesus Since the Crucifixion.” You’ll be listed right under “Most Uncomfortable Public Speaking Moment by a Sitting Senator Not Named McConnell.”
In closing, we say this with the full wrath of holy sarcasm and the loving ridicule of a nation sick to death of folksy frauds:
Jesus may love you, Senator Kennedy — but everybody else thinks—everybody else…
Exactly.
Finish the sentence, John.
Amen.
— The Unforgiving Choir of America’s Rolled Eyes
P.S. Next time you invoke Jesus, bring a backup sentence and a surge protector.
If you laughed, cringed, or felt the Holy Spirit whisper “everybody else thinks…” before trailing off like John Neely Kennedy mid-sentence, consider supporting Closer to the Edge. We finish thoughts, confront cowards, and write like every metaphor is a flaming sword.
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.