Can we finally order an XXXL orange jumpsuit for Felonious Trump, not to be confused in any way with Thelonious Monk, whose artistry has enriched our lives for more than 80 years while FT has enriched absolutely nothing except his bulbous waistline and ego? Oh…and I’m on 24/7 Giuliani watch in the hope that my theory, that a person can actually be so full of shit that the accumulated internal build-up of methane can, with the right amount of heat or proximity to a lightning strike or other flint-like spark, make them spontaneously combust.
I’m cautiously giddy over the guilty verdicts against Manafort and the bombshell plea/confession of Cohen and the fact that the fickle finger of responsibility for all things smarmy is now flashing, like a cheap Motel 6 sign, in the direction of the fake POTUS. I want to believe that there is a tipping point and that we must be very close to it, but the cultish support for the Don by the Republican Congress and the millions of glazed-over-eyed acolytes of this unapologetic criminal do not bode well for an imminent day of reckoning. That there appears to be no mechanism in place to stop the dismantling of the progress we’ve made in environmental protection, social services, access to health care and education and the deterioration of global alliances vital to our welfare and, that as all that continues, Brett Kavanaugh, (who was manufactured, I’ve seen the schematics, in a lab by the Koch brothers), is poised to become a decades-long voice of unreason on the Supreme Court, is clear proof, (it’s important to have your unglazed eyes open to see it), that Vladimir Putin’s grand plan to undermine our democracy from within has been a demonically brilliant success.
We complainers hold tight to the underlying, although possibly mythological belief that there are those with the power and wherewithal to set things right. Natalie, at my local Target store, for instance, who could have fully refunded my receiptless purchase at her discretion, yet still made me resort to demanding to see her supervisor…but kudos to Target, sixteen minutes later I exited the store with my $4.72…in cash…victory! Still, here we are, twenty months into the most improbable conspiracy theorist’s wet dream and the only apparent knight, armored or otherwise, riding to our rescue, is a doggedly determined Special Prosecutor, who can, at the whim of those he is investigating, be summarily dismissed before raising his lance or making public, any of his investigative labors. The truth, which may not be the truth according to the soon-to-burst-into-flames Giuliani, is that the criminal enterprise now occupying the White House has the muscle, the determination and the survival skills to possibly endure the pile-on of accusations, indictments and convictions, leaving us the old tried and true takin’ it to the streets option.
Just in case.