Ben Shapiro draws close to his sainted grandmother’s lovely face. “This isn’t particularly sad, given your advanced age,” he whispers, closing the coffin lid.
Ben Shapiro giving his grandmother’s eulogy insistently and repetitively explaining for 3 hrs why her death is preferable to risking a recession in an unbearable voice that sounds like it’s somehow being played at 1.5 speed until every mourner’s eyes start to bleed.
He never sleeps, the Ben says. His voice is light and nimble. He never sleeps. He says that he will never die. He debates in facts and in logic and he is a great favorite with the incels. He never sleeps, the Ben. He is debating, debating. He says that he will never die.
