The Biden Crime family has sunk to its last big grift.

Crashing into the unforgiving waves of history after their time in the presidency, Doddering Joe and his co-captain Jill find themselves with no other option but to auction off their tales of woe to the most generous buyer.

Now, the pair are rumored to be looking at a $30 million payday for a ‘his and hers’ tell-all twin set (less than half of the Obamas’s, that’s gotta sting).

But Bumbling Biden’s tome is going to be short on substance if his performance on The View on Thursday is any measure. The Ladies had to lean-in, struggling to make out his mumbles (or preparing to catch him if he fell), as soft-ball questions bounced off his noggin.

Loser Joe told a simpering Joy Behar that he could have ‘beat’ Donald Trump in the 2024 race, then described his successor as ‘vacant.’ It was almost as if the last four years never happened – and, perhaps, by Joe’s memory, they haven’t.

Indeed, that was the ‘mic drop moment’ for old butter fingers who’s better at holding ice cream cones than audiences.

On the other hand, there will be no shortage of print-venom for Lady MacBiden to hiss at the likes of Nancy Pelosi, George Clooney, Big Bad Barack, and of course her ultimate nemesis: Kamala.

Jill reportedly kept a daily diary during her White House years and the notoriously vengeful First Lady likely has some serious grudges that she’d likely be delighted to revisit.

The Biden Crime family has sunk to its last big grift. With their post-presidency crashing into the rocks of history there’s nothing left for Doddering Joe and co-captain Jill, but to sell their sob stories to the highest bidder.

Loser Joe told a simpering Joy Behar that he could have ‘beat’ Donald Trump in the 2024 race, then described his successor as ‘vacant.’ It was almost as if the last four years never happened – and, perhaps, by Joe’s memory, they haven’t.

There will be no shortage of print-venom for Lady MacBiden to hiss at the likes of Nancy Pelosi, George Clooney, Big Bad Barack, and of course her ultimate nemesis: Kamala.

In fact, I managed to get my paws on an advance (fictional) copy of Jill’s memoir – and you’ll never believe what’s in it:

Working Title: ‘Weekend at Joey’s: Just Sniffing Around’

Chapter 5: Biden my time

Between dodging Hunter’s loan requests (he said he needed new paint brushes) and texting mainstream media chumps about how spry and coherent my husband was, I had started to grow very wary of Kamala.

First, I caught her sprinkling something into Joe’s orange Gatorade. But she already knew that only I administer his pep juice.

Then when Joe and I were in Asia for our last summit, she showed up to the hotel room with crampons and climbing ropes, claiming she wanted to take the president on a ‘little jaunt’ up to Everest base camp. He couldn’t even walk across the White House lawn without a sherpa.

The only thing worse than Kamala’s scheming was Doug Emhoff’s repeated suggestions that he and I go out for drinks.

Chapter 14: Camp-tastrophe

The day before Joey faced off against Dream Boat Donald in the first presidential debate, I was convinced it was going to be a disaster.

The extended Biden family (minus Hunter’s daughter Navy, of course) were hunkered down for debate prep at Camp David. But all the president wanted to do was soak in an Epsom bath, sniff his own hair and mutter, ‘who’s the pretty girl?’

Once, he showed up for his remedial civics class wearing his CPAC mask.

In Joe’s defense, prep sessions are held at 6pm, which is essentially the middle of the night for him.

I reached out to our former flack Jen Psaki for some pre-emptive crisis PR, but she told me: ‘Let me circle back, Dr. Jill. Ok? Buh bye.’ Well, the joke is on ole’ Carrot Top. She got more airtime as White House shill then a host at MSNBC.

Chapter 15: The emperor has no… brains

Seeing Joe shuffle onto that Atlanta stage was like watching a lemming headed for the cliffs. And sexy Trump was waiting there like a Cheshire cat ready to consume the poor little guy.

Then… I blacked out. I have no memory of the debate – thank God!

That’s why I told Joe had done a good job. I, literally, had no idea what happened. ‘You answered every question, you knew all the facts,’ I said to him before a cheering crowd of trans activists and Ukrainian businessmen.

Only later did I realize just how badly it had all gone. After Judas Napoleon (aka George Stephanopoulos) let slip that he didn’t think Joe could ‘serve four more years,’ I felt the trappings of the White House slipping from my grasp.

In a moment of weakness, I considered packing Joe a PB&J, putting him on an Amtrak to Florida and letting him wander off into the Everglades.

Between dodging Hunter’s loan requests (he said he needed new paint brushes) and texting mainstream media chumps about how spry and coherent my husband was, I had started to grow very wary of Kamala.

Chapter 16: Vultures circle

The day after the Stephanopoulos stab, I knew it was all over.

Nancy Pelosi wouldn’t answer my phone calls and the checks from China stopped arriving in the mailbox in Delaware.

‘Oh, Joey,’ I thought. ‘If we can’t sell access to the highest reaches of the US government, how are we going to survive?’ After all, Northern Virginia Community College doesn’t pay very well.

Then George Clooney’s New York Times op-ed dropped – and we all knew that Barack was behind-the-scenes pulling the strings.

It was good while it lasted, I told the grandkids, but now they all had to get real jobs.

Chapter 20: Election night

You would think election night was the worst of our lives, but when you have nothing to lose… you play drinking games.

Every time Kamala lost a battleground state, Anita Dunn would yell ‘DRINK!’ and after 6 Jäger shots we all passed out somewhere between the poll closings in Michigan and Wisconsin.

For the next week, we holed up with Hunter and his soul brother/sugar daddy Kevin Morris and prank called Emhoff every hour pretending to be from a nanny-staffing service. Doughy Doug took the bait every time.

I never thought I would admit this in public, but when a publisher is paying you millions you show them ALL your warts.

Hell, I’ve even made a few things up! But this nugget is the God’s honest truth. I voted for Trump. Twice. And I’d do it again!