Don’t worry: after he was denied the Democratic presidential nomination in 1968, Pigasus went on to a successful career in investment banking. Today he is a bundler for Hillary Clinton. After yesterday’s primaries, Pigasus and I will probably be voting for the same candidate come November, since our other option is Donald Trump. The billionaire and decreasingly funny running joke didn’t quite seize the nomination last night, but he took all in winner-take-all Florida and knocked Maro Rubio out of the race.  Now it’s just him and Ted Cruz, unless John Kasich wins 94% of delegates between now and July.

So why is Kasich staying in? He expects a brokered convention, and he’s not wrong to think that many Republicans—especially the ones who run the party—would rather send him to the generals than either of his opponents. It’s still entirely possible Trump will hit July with a simple majority of delegates, and that will be that. But it’s equally plausible he won’t, especially since former Rubio supporters would seem more likely to shift their loyalty to the other hyper-conservative anglicized Latino senator than to the egomaniac threatening riots.

In an interview with CNN about the possibility of a brokered convention, Trump said, “I don’t think you can say that we don’t get it automatically. I think you’d have riots. I think you’d have riots. I’m representing many, many millions of people.” Note that he’s not calling for riots himself. He’s just saying, twice, that if he doesn’t get the Republican nomination, that’s probably what will happen. Trump doesn’t like these riots among millions of people who demand he become president any more than you do.

All of this news is a mere curiosity to me, since I will be dead by then. I know I’ve been sicker than this before, because I had walking pneumonia in college. But this thing has really put the zap on me, and the road to recovery is long, viscous, and green with streaks of blood. I’d like to take a moment to thank the inventor of antibiotics, Ted Antibiot, because if this happened to me in 1816 I would be dead. On the other hand, I could write about the evident disintegration of the Federalist Party, so maybe it wouldn’t be so different after all.

Although my confidence in the medical profession remains at a low ebb after last year’s vertigo debacle, I went to the doctor yesterday. I’m glad I did. I’ll spare you the greenish-yellow details, but I have a variety of exciting infections in pretty much all the orifices of my head, and now I am on antibiotics. They are definitely making me better, particularly in the category of sore throat and ears, but they are also wiping me out. I assume my body is mostly bacteria, and this course of treatment will cure me by majority killing me. In this way I resemble the body politic: disgusting, injurious to public health, and likely to get worse before it gets better.

Today is a big day for presidential primaries: Ohio, Florida, Missouri, North Carolina and Illinois all go to the polls. If John Kasich and Marco Rubio don’t beat Donald Trump in their home states tonight, their campaigns are functionally over. That would leave Republicans to choose between Trump and Ted Cruz, not just in the primaries that follow but at the convention in July. Ohio and Florida are winner-take-all states, and if Trump wins both he could reach the convention with a simple majority of delegates. More likely, though, he’ll roll in with a plurality, leaving the party establishment to broker a compromise between two candidates it hates, or risk alienating its voters with a third candidate who didn’t run in any primaries at all.

It’s an exciting day for Republican politics, is what I’m saying here. We may be watching the first stages of a split in the GOP. Either that or we’re watching the second stage of a nationalist strongman’s ascent to power, but I don’t think so. This is a friendly reminder that polls have Trump getting smashed by Clinton in a general election, and Sanders does even better. It’s going to be okay. I mean, it’s clearly not: one of our two major parties is on the verge of nominating an incoherent and racist reality television celebrity. But it’s going to be not-okay with a president other than Donald Trump. And I’m going to live, dammit.

Combat! blog’s residency at death’s door continues today, and I don’t like it any better than you do. Those who saw me at Friday’s panel will be pleased to learn I am no longer shivering and sweating at the same time, but my lungs remain a home for glue. So are my ears, now, such that as my illness progresses the world seems disconcertingly farther away. It is a gray, rainy morning in Missoula, caught between the dawn and its inevitable conclusion. Perhaps I am already dead.

But you, dear reader, are most certainly alive, and you cannot soldier on in ignorance. So while I wait for that thing which happens to us all, how about you read this long, fascinating profile of Barack Obama’s foreign policy? I know that doesn’t sound enticing, but Jeffrey Goldberg’s interview-centered analysis is amazing. It starts with the president’s decision not to launch airstrikes against Assad’s Syria in 2013 and ends, in the present day, with David Frum absolutely losing his shit on Twitter. I like Frum on domestic politics, but ragging on Obama for not starting enough wars in the Middle East is a bad look for a man who wrote speeches for George W. Bush in 2003. I joke about being dead, but in my lifetime, my government has made hundreds of thousands of people dead for real. Maybe the worst foreign policy that doesn’t invade Syria is better than the best that does.

The best part about being really, really sick is getting a thick strand of mucus caught between your nose and throat and clenching your abdominal muscles to avoid vomiting. You can’t avoid gagging. You’re going to gag. But throwing up is a choice, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to release my precious analgesics and expectorants minutes after I swallow them. There is no Combat! blog today, because I am sick. In two hours, I will go do a panel at the University of Montana, where I plan to warn aspiring writers against weakening their immune systems by working from home. If you’re in Missoula, come on down to the University Theater and check it out. A hacking cough will be your reward.

Last week, the Bozeman-based real estate developer HomeBase Montana presented plans to demolish the Missoula Mercantile building and erect a Residence Inn by Marriott. This plan to destroy a historic building did not impress the Historic Preservation Commission. Neither did it impress members of the public, who expressed unanimous opposition during the comment period. I don’t know for certain, but I assume the meeting ended when the commission asked who else had $5 million dollars to buy the Merc and do something with it, and everyone fell silent.

The doors have been locked since 2010. A group of investors bought the building in 2011 with ambitious plans for remodeling and retail, but they came to nothing. Another investor almost bought the Merc in 2014, but they backed out at the last minute. Unless someone squats it, which would be awesome but probably unsustainable, it is likely to remain empty for the foreseeable future. Our choice is therefore not between a Marriott and something else. It’s between a Marriott and nothing.

That’s a pretty pass for our local economy to come to. You can read all about it in this week’s column for the Missoula Independent. I thought the last thing I wanted downtown was a giant hotel, but after I considered it, I realized the last thing I wanted downtown was a giant, empty building. At least people at the Residence Inn will go outside and buy stuff. We’ll be back tomorrow with Friday links, unless I cough up my other lung.