"So there's no chance she's going to drop out tonight, is there?" asked one of my companions, plaintively. The consensus of the room is no. I see this contest carrying on past June--like, June 2082. Our great-grandchildren will battle in a post-apocalyptic America desiccated by global warming and littered with the corpses of uninsured union members whose textile jobs were outsourced to Alpha Centauri.