I have a few guilty pleasures as of late including the Jeffrey Epstein didn’t kill himself memes, Donald Trump’s head on some other body photoshops, and my new favorite: Videos of people harassing Joe Biden at his rallies.

Watching him react to people calling him out while waiting for him to explode is strangely entertaining to me.

Eventually he’s going to punch somebody. It’s only a matter of time. You can see it in his body language, in his eyes, and by listening to the way he talks down to people who disagree with him or question him (respectfully or not).

He’s the classic “put your dukes up,” man’s man and he won’t be challenged – which makes it all the more ironic that he is leading the Democratic presidential field in 2019.

Biden is an old white man that oozes testosterone at a time when there’s been plenty of talk from new young Democrats that the last thing this country needs is another old white man running it.

Still, some find him to be the best choice to take on Donald Trump in 2020.

They must see something in him that I’m missing. Perhaps he reminds some people of their tough but loving grandpa who did things the old-fashioned way and walked to school uphill both ways in snowstorms.

The difference to me is while grandpa’s stories were certainly embellished here and there, they were still a lot more legit and coherent when you compare them to the malarkey that Biden spits out.

He must think his tales of battling gang members in the 1960s or having incredibly hairy legs give him some sort of street cred with voters looking for a hero to sock the Orange Man in the eye (or at the very least keep him warm at night), but it just comes off as fake, contrived and, frankly, egotistical.

And when he speaks in that stern, know-it-all, condescending tone, he actually reminds me of a cranky old-style teacher from the 1970s or 80s who’d have no problem grabbing a kid by the neck and squeezing until his face turned purple or rubbing a hand on the back of a teenage girl while she sits uncomfortably at her desk.

He’s the town curmudgeon who hates everything from the way the city plows his street to every child who dares play outside near his house. I keep waiting for a video to surface of him sitting on his front porch yelling at little kids riding their bike past his house, demanding they stay off his grass.

When I was growing up, we had a guy like that in the neighborhood. Kids and adults alike would actually avoid his side of the block at all costs because they didn’t want to get hollered at for breathing in the direction of his finely manicured lawn.

He’d stare out the window all day and into the evening just waiting to pounce on some poor, unsuspecting fool, who would dare walk near his weed free sanctuary.

Scary as he was, every once-in-a-while some brave soul looking for a laugh would purposely pedal their Huffy past his place, riding precariously close to the edge of the sidewalk and turning the handle bars sharply left and right as if they were going to touch the lawn with their tires just to get a rise out of him.

Like this one kid we knew named Jimmy. His friends all called him Corn Pop because he liked the cereal but don’t let his sugary nickname fool you – he was a bad, bad dude.

He used to hang with a rough crowd, rubbing shoulders with a whole host of other tough hombres like Pony Boy, Soda Pop, Dallas, Kenickie, Danny, the T-Birds, Kelly Leak and Leather Tuskadero.

Real gangster types.

One day me and a couple of buddies were playing marbles out in front of my pal Eddie’s house across the street from lawn guy when we saw Corn Pop peddling his bike up the sidewalk toward the man’s house.

On his first run Corn Pop zipped past at a rapid pace, too quickly for the guy to get out his front door and we breathed a collective sigh of relief. But then Corn Pop did the unthinkable: He made a U-turn at the end of the block and headed back for a second pass, this time pedaling a little slower.

When he reached the danger zone, the man started out his door and began shouting, “get out of here,” at the top of his lungs and Corn Pop - perhaps suddenly regretting his decision to poke the bear - stood up to pedal faster but in his haste his foot slipped from the pedal causing him to lose control of the BMX, catch the edge of the sidewalk and tumble onto the man’s lawn.

Me and my buddies watched in shock fearing Corn Pop was done for sure but luckily for him, lawn guy had a lot of hair on his legs (hair that actually turned a golden blond in the sun) and he actually tangled himself up in said hair, tripped and fell on his own lawn leaving a nasty divot.

At that point Corn Pop stood himself up, got back on his bike, and took off down the street.

The man, clearly embarrassed – or perhaps concussed - could do nothing but shake his fist in the air and yell, “run, Esther, run.”

True story. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you.

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