On Friday, a reporter asked Vice President Kamala Harris in Michigan why she was no longer campaigning as a "joyful warrior." In a grave and tired voice, she offered a long, circuitous, incomprehensible response that ignored the question. So the reporter asked again.

"The critics say the joy is gone. You respond?"

"Oh, I'm having a great time," she snapped unconvincingly before melting into peals of maniacal, unhappy laughter.

The "Hope and Joy" campaign has become "Hope and Growl."

Meanwhile, over at the Trump campaign, the joy is explosive and spontaneous and cannot be contained.

As with so much of this election, there are no words. The whole campaign for the past year is best told in pictures -- iconic image after iconic image, every one of them of former President Donald Trump.

A mug shot in Georgia.

Mr. Trump, face down, blood streaking his face after a bullet had struck his ear at a rally in Butler, Pennsylvania. Then, Mr. Trump, moments later -- standing tall, blood still streaking his face, fist raised -- chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" with the American flag billowing behind him.

It was an image so powerful and honest that The New York Times cropped the picture to remove the flag -- lest the true image be too appealing to voters before the November election.

Every one of these pictures became instant pop art, printed on T-shirts, sold as swag and worn by legions of people who are not part of the political intelligentsia. By year's end, they will show up in the T-shirt bins at Goodwill and in Third World countries after survivors crack open the disaster-relief containers from America.

Already the most famous mortal in the world, Mr. Trump now glares defiantly from people's chests from the projects of Atlanta to the slums of Calcutta and every country holler and jungle enclave in between.

And then he went to McDonald's.

In an election of iconic imagery, no image will eclipse the image from Mr. Trump's visit as the ultimate undercover boss, showing up at a McDonald's in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, to work the fry cooker.

The famous McDonald's enthusiast shed his suit jacket for an apron to cook, salt and sling McDonald's famous fries and deliver them to cars lined up at the drive-thru window. Leaning out the window, he delighted customers and answered stupid questions from the press gathered outside.

It was a beautiful circus, and there could not have been more joy. Then Mr. Trump leaned out the window, offered a slight smile and waved, creating the most iconic picture of the entire campaign, snapped in iconic images.

The gold sash of his apron matched his golden hair, which has always matched the famous fries from the Golden Arches. And in case you forgot that Mr. Trump is the unrivaled master of marketing and imagery, he was still wearing his tie, a bright red precisely the color of the McDonald's sign -- and Ronald McDonald's hair.

It was a modest wave as if to say thanks for coming, come again, but I got to get back to work. It was a happy picture. He did not look joyless yet, nor was he smiling like a jackass-eating cactus.

Happy to help. But more work is to be done.

Outside McDonald's, the iconic picture went, as they say, viral. Some compared it to a Norman Rockwell portrait, with its rich colors and cherubic features depicting all that is wholesome and hopeful about America.

The haters -- hatred of Mr. Trump is all that unites the Harris campaign anymore -- complained that the picture was staged since Mr. Trump has not actually become a full-time fry cook at a McDonald's in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

No words.

But Mr. Trump himself said at least he has worked as a McDonald's fry cook 15 minutes longer than Ms. Harris has. And he is not unhappy about it.