The failed candidate is going on a book tour, and it promises to be quite a spectacle.

I regret to inform readers about an eerie new update to last month’s spookiest story: At the end of July, Kamala Harris announced her new career as a horror novelist, with 107 Days as her first offering. The book promises to be a “chiller” in the style of Garth Marenghi, telling the tale of a doomed presidential campaign, the nihilistically empty cipher lurking at the center of its gaseous cloud of unreality, and the “vibes” that threatened the entire nation. (I am told it has a happy ending, however.)

But yesterday, Harris raised the horror stakes even further by announcing a terrifying two-month publicity tour to flog her tome — surely not coincidentally timed to climax around Halloween. Yes, the upcoming Bataan Death Tour for 107 Days — which kicks off in late September in New York City and ends two months later in Miami — promises to be a Grand Guignol display of carnage, as Kamala Harris is required to sit and take questions from an audience about her campaign memoir, but more accurately about the Democratic Party’s psychological and moral collapse that followed her defeat. It is impossible not to notice that, while she is skipping Wisconsin and Michigan, she has scheduled several stops in cities like Toronto and London that would have given her nearly 100 percent of their vote, were they not alas located in different countries.

I can’t wait. I’m the guy who writes the Carnival of Fools, and here Harris is, promising her own traveling circus. In fact, I promise you right now that I will attend Harris’s October 11 appearance in Chicago if at all possible. She’s holding the event at the Auditorium Theatre (a marvelous venue), and I’m even more excited to discover that “VIP Meet & Greet tickets are available and include a photo with Former Vice President Kamala Harris and a signed copy of 107 Days.”

Readers, I know we’ve hit you a lot recently with fundraising pleas, but I’m afraid I must pass the hat once again: Let’s crowdfund however many hundred bucks it probably costs to get me on camera shaking Kamala Harris’s hand with an inappropriate, beamingly ironic grin. I wouldn’t be there to speak up, mind you, merely take notes. I want to find out how many excuses she is capable of uttering in one sitting. (I want to find out how many complete sentences she is capable of uttering in one sitting, for that matter.) I am fascinated to find out whether this woman has yet learned to answer an unscripted question, because she certainly hadn’t up through November 2024.

I’ve said in the past that I’m tired of writing about Kamala Harris, but that should be properly qualified: I’m tired of writing about her as a going concern. I’m more than happy to vivisect her in defeat. Why, I might even bother to read the book. But I doubt it. I’m just here for the spectacle.