Illustration by Michael DiMilo
By Geoff Carter
When presumptive Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris picked Minnesota governor Tim Walz to be her running mate, a collective sigh (a sigh that sounded suspiciously like the word “who?”) swept over the American landscape—a sigh that was followed by a series of questions. Who is this guy? Why the Minnesota governor? Why not Shapiro?
Walz soon put all these doubts to rest. It turned out the guy was a high school Social Studies teacher for over twenty years. He was the linebackers coach for the school football team that went from zero wins to the state championship in one year. He established his high school’s first Straight Gay Alliance (and this was back in the 90s). Mr. Walz was also a high-ranking member of the National Guard for over twenty years before resigning to serve as a Minnesota congressman. He and his wife, still a high school English teacher, tried unsuccessfully to have a child for years before finally conceiving their daughter Hope because of the technological miracle known as IVF. He is a hunter and was a long-time NRA supporter until the Parkman massacre when he renounced the gun lobby and returned every dime of their donation money.
On top of all this, Mr. Walz is funny, down-to-Earth, kind of funky (he participated in a butter-carving contest at the Minnesota State Fair), and sort of cool—he dressed all in purple while dedicating a Minnesota highway to Prince and bragged about going to a Bruce Springsteen concert with Governor Shapiro. Videos of him and his daughter Hope are hilarious. He cracks Dad jokes and is every bit as geeky as any American dad. (He probably doesn’t get Taylor Swift either.) In short, Tim Walz seems like the kindly uncle every kid wishes he had. He’s a perfect candidate.
In fact, he seems a little too perfect. Too good to be true. How could it be that one man is a veteran, a teacher, a man of principle, a public servant, a football coach, a wunderdad, a hunter, and a stalwart Democrat. He can’t be real—and maybe he’s not Now, previously undisclosed information has revealed that Tim Walz is actually an AI construct, built form well-known cultural icons.
Here’s a possible recipe. Start with a pinch of Coach Dale from Hoosiers, throw in a pinch of Mr. Holland from Mr. Holland’s Opus. Add a half-cup of Will Rogers and stir in a cup of Sargent Horvath from Saving Private Ryan and set aside to steep. Toss in a teaspoon of Dr. Sledge from The Pacific and you’re just about there. All we need now is a little—just a touch—of Garrison Keillor.
Sorry. I had to indulge myself, but I would like to—in fact, I need to—disavow the above passage. It isn’t true. It is a fiction, a satire, and definitely not real. I just do not to start anything weird on social media. Governor Tim Walz is real. And so is his adversary J.D. Vance.
Compared to Governor Walz, Republican vice-presidential nominee J.D. Vance seems like a petulant and arrogant brat (not the good kind of brat). His comments have been angry, bitter, and confrontational—just like his boss. If Walz is an ideal AI construct, Vance is a nasty little mini-me farmed from some mutated strand of Trump’s DNA.
Some genius working for the Trump campaign decided to schedule campaign stops for Vance in cities immediately following the Kamala and Walz rallies to, I don’t know—perhaps intimidate them or maybe upstage them? The strategy backfired. He hardly seems intimidating. Instead, he looks like a lonely child tagging after his older sibling.
Following a huge rally attended by ten thousand people for the Democratic Presidential ticket in Eau Claire, Wisconsin last week, Vance’s campaign staged an event with maybe twenty or thirty people inside an airplane hangar. He then sauntered out to where the Vice-President’s jet stood waiting. He then pointed to it and said he was there to look at his future jet. It was all a little pathetic, like the kid who can’t get anyone to come to his birthday party.
The Republican presidential ticket is not known for their empathy. Mr. Trump has made fun of disabled people, made disparaging remarks about women, and has called Mexican Americans criminals and rapists. J.D. Vance has maintained that “childless cat women” should pay more taxes and have fewer votes than women who have children. He is a miniaturized version of Trump. He is a staunch supporter of Christian Nationalism and is closely aligned to the minds behind the ultra-conservative template Project 2025, a comprehensive plan that supports scrapping the federal government, abolishing public schools, eviscerating Social Security and Medicare, abolishing the Affordable Care Act, and more. Hillbilly Elegy, Mr. Vance’s supposed autobiography has come under scrutiny for its negative stereotypical portrayal of the working poor and for manipulating aspects of the narrative to further his Christian Nationalist agenda and his own personal ambitions. Plus, it seems just a little misleading because apparently Vance himself never lived in Appalachia.
Trump and Vance have both continued their attempts to demean their opponents through juvenile name-calling and bullying. The former president has tried to saddle Mr. Harris with the label “Laughing Kamala”, which no one seems to have found insulting—or amusing—and has labeled Governor Walz as “Tampon Tim” for signing a bill providing free menstrual products for disadvantaged students in Minnesota public schools, a law most Americans recognize as compassionate and necessary. To call this phrase juvenile is an insult to schoolyard bullies everywhere.
As a stark contrast to this mean-spirited, bullying, misogynistic, and exclusionary mindset, Kamala Harris and Tim Walz have brought a new brand of energy and optimism to the table. Ms. Harris seems to be enjoying herself greatly at her rallies, as does Governor Walz, who has already coined some memorable catchlines for the campaign like “None of your damned business”.
Governor Walz also has characterized Mr. Trump and J.D. Vance as “weird”, a seemingly innocuous descriptor, but one which has stuck—primarily because it is true—and secondly because, unlike the Republican campaign rhetoric, the word “weird” is more descriptive that pejorative. By using “weird” instead of a phrase like “freaks” or “criminals” or “fascists” or “dangers”, Walz not only displays his compassion and humor while exposing his opponents’ total lack of humor while simultaneously puncturing their tough-guy male personas.
Walz is right. They are weird. Who else would suggest that people with children should be rewarded by having lower taxes and more votes than childless citizens? Who else obsesses about crowd sizes? Who else talks about electrocuting sharks? Who else values fortune and power above human rights? Who else would try to exert complete control over women’s bodies and impose draconian voting laws?
It is a perfect descriptor. Walz, as he has so many times already in this campaign, has again hit the perfect note. He is living proof that Midwest values, common sense, public duty, and common human decency are alive and well. He is a perfect vice-presidential candidate, so perfect he might become an even greater social media sensation. He and Vice-President Harris are a breath of fresh air, bringing joy, hope, and optimism back into the hearts of the American people.
Governor Tim Walz is not an AI construct. He is as real as you or me. He only seems perfect. And that is in no way weird.