In the olden days we used to laugh at the political fringes. They were impotent embarrassing nuisances. We stopped laughing. Remember when?

The fringes have all morphed into the base. The core. The heart. The muscle. The voice. The engine. "Who's sorry now?" The Conducter has  contempt for the tracks laid out and so is taking the  train careening hither and yon ALWAYS OFF TRACK. To what end? Guess?