Occasionally, because of the pre-set button on my car radio, I hear Mark Levin calling for a Confederation of States. As he says, always at the top of his voice, thus making the radio nearly unnecessary, the Constitution, a divinely-inspired document, provides for a way that allows the people to amend it without going through Congress.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do so through the repetition of a magical incantation. It still calls for 38 states to meet and agree that, for instance, the national debt cannot be raised except by a three-fourths vote in the House and Senate or that, by that same wide margin, federal expenditures may not exceed 20% of the gross national product.

But as long as we’re making out a wish list, I would move to raise the voting age to 30, members of the military excepted, and limit it to those who have filed at least three years of tax returns. While I’m at it, I would also deny all social services to those here illegally and cut off federal funds to sanctuary cities. I would also arrest and indict the mayors of those cities for intentionally thwarting federal law in violation of their vow to abide by the Constitution.

However, in the final analysis, in a nation as politically polarized as ours, you couldn’t get 38 states to agree the sun rises in the east.

I live in the San Fernando Valley. One of its more distinctive features is that we probably have more cul-de-sacs than any other place in the country. As a result, it is a formidable task to get from one place to another because our streets keep starting and stopping, interrupted by everything from colleges and breweries to airports and freeways. At times, our streets stop and start half-a-dozen times within half a dozen miles.

The most quizzical phenomenon are those streets that start out with one name and then change their name in the midst of crossing another street. It’s as if they’re married women who get a divorce and decide to revert to their maiden name. But they’re not married or divorced women, they’re just streets. So what possible rationale, aside from some city bureaucrat thinking that cul-de-sacs aren’t confusing enough and deciding to really screw with our heads, can there be?

Barack Obama and Loretta Lynch, who just might be Eric Holder in drag, have put their empty heads together and are considering bringing criminal charges against those whom they refer to as climate change deniers, a term that would be laughable if it weren’t intentionally meant to libel independent scientists by linking them to those guttersnipes who deny the Holocaust ever took place.

Several centuries ago, the Catholic Church made Galileo’s life a living hell for stating that the sun, not the earth, was the center of the universe. Today, the President and the Attorney General are the self-appointed censors insisting, in the total absence of evidence, that the polar caps are melting and the ocean levels are rising.

You would think that those proclaiming scientific truths would be called upon to prove their assertions by pointing to the flooding of all those coastal cities that have taken place since Al Gore sounded the alarm back in the 1990s, but facts and truth, as you’ve probably noticed, are never required by the media or, for that matter, academia. On the left, nothing is ever allowed to impinge on their collective agenda.

For his part, Pope Francis is showing that he was born 500 years too late. By voicing his own concerns about a changing climate, he is figuratively throwing another shovel’s worth of dirt on Galileo’s grave.

If a moose ever behaved like a typical liberal or like Pope Francis, for that matter, I’d now know to blame crab apples.

Recently, I heard that in Anchorage, Alaska, the citizens have pretty much adopted a live-and-let-live attitude where wild life is concerned.

As a result, the citizenry has become accustomed to having a moose or two share the sidewalk or stroll down the middle of the street or even take a snooze in their front yard.

But every once in a while, they’d find one lurching along or standing stock still in the road with a faraway look in its glazed eyes, thinking deep moose thoughts that we humans can’t possibly fathom.

At such times, the Alaskans have finally realized, it means that the world’s largest deer have been noshing on the crab apples that have dropped from trees and fermented on the ground. Having absorbed the fact that the moose are merely schnockered, the natives now simply nod philosophically, realizing they’ve all been there once or twice, and hope the animals sleep it off without getting rambunctious.

Unfortunately, when it comes to liberals, the condition is never temporary. Or as Winston Churchill was once purported to have said to a snooty woman who’d been chiding him incessantly about his drinking at a dinner party: “But at least, madam, I’ll be sober in the morning, whereas you will still be ugly.”

When Donald Trump announced he was neutral when it came to the endless conflict between Israel and the Hamas-led Palestinians, he explained that by doing so, he was positioning himself to act as an honest broker and bring peace to the region. Will this man never learn that foreign relations is nothing like building a hotel, where you merely have to grease the palms of mob bosses and union leaders, often as not the same person? If he wants to learn how to conduct himself on the world stage with the likes of Putin, Kim Jung-un and the Ayatollah, he should stop underlining his favorite passages in “The Art of the Deal” and start reading Machiavelli’s “The Prince.”

If he really intends to end the conflict, he should cut off funding to the terrorists, place the same number of soldiers on Israel’s borders as we’ve had on the border between North and South Korea for the past six decades, and then announce that any future intifada would be taken as an attack on the U.S.

In the meantime, Iran, which was given a greenlight by Obama and Kerry to test long range missiles, along with $150 billion with which to expand its military war chest, refuses to even recognize Israel on its maps. It did, however, offer a recognition of sorts by adorning its latest missiles with the words “Israel must be wiped out,” written in Hebrew, no less.

By now, we have all grown accustomed to those TV commercials for male vigor enhancers warning customers to contact their doctors if an erection lasts more than four hours.

I can certainly imagine the discomfort involved, although I have never quite figured out what a doctor is supposed to do about it, assuming that a hammer and chisel are out of the question.

But as bad as those four hours might be, I’m not sure it begins to compare with how I feel about these primaries.

I only wish my doctor could somehow provide relief from an election lasting more than four months.