Gee willikers, there’s so much I could rant about! Like, Trump planning to turn Memorial Day into a ceremonial occasion upon which to pardon convicted and accused war criminals. Really! It’s true! Or Barr’s Justice Department using Wikileaks Turd Julian Assange as a stalking horse in a scheme to assault the First Amendment, indicting him for merely publishing classified information – charges which, if they stuck, would open up every real journalistic enterprise in the land to immediate prosecution, which is surely the end game. Sort of a Pentagon Papers scenario in reverse!
But I thought I’d use today’s post to argue with myself about pessimism when it comes to Donald and his assault on decency, democracy, and humanity in general. I have to be brief, though, because the only time anybody says anything about my posts is when they tell me they’re too long. I’m told that Millennials have taken to responding to written material, even e-mails more than a couple of sentences long, by writing “TL;DR”, which means “too long, didn’t read”. So even what I have down so far here would qualify, because it’s more than the Twitter maximum of 280 characters.
Of course, when trying to come up with straight-faced arguments about still having a chance to triumph over the Orange Idi of Id, I might not need much more space than that. Let’s see! Then at the bottom I’ll supply a word count!
So, a while back I wrote chirpily that we could all relax, Fat Donny would be gone by the end of 2019:
Seems a little optimistic about now, right? But wait. There are still some glimmers of hope. Look:
- It’s not even June yet. I still have seven months to be proved right, and at the way time is compressed in Trumpspace that’s about three times as long as the the Universe has already existed. It’s as if, in normal Einsteinian spacetime, we still had 42 billion years to go. A lot can happen in 42 billion years. You don’t know nothing good will occur before I’m proved wrong and silly. You can’t prove that. Like:
- Donald may suffer a total mental breakdown, perhaps as soon as this afternoon. He sure seems like he’s close to being fit for the strait jacket, and not in his usual way, but in total “guess we really do gotta to invoke the 25th Amendment this time fellas” mode, so bad that even Sarah Huckabee Sanders couldn’t spin it differently, because in mid-interview on Fox, Trump would run into the frame wearing only his socks, jump into her lap, and wail Mommy, Bad Nancy and Mean Chucky are under my bed again!!
- Trump keeps losing in court, and maybe always will. It’s possible!! Maybe, when all this stonewalling litigation hits the Supremes, even Kavanaugh will break out in a sweat, admit that Trump’s legal arguments are patent horse shit, and think about what will happen if he says different and then some ungodly Democrat becomes President, and uses her new power to abolish the very court he whined so hard to join.
- Something even worse than anything he’s done so far might finally shatter the Base. I can’t say what that would be, exactly, because by definition such an event is unimaginable, but remember, we’ve got 42 billion years to play with here, and in that sort of time frame a typist in the proverbial roomful of chimps might just hammer out War and Peace on his Smith-Corona. Maybe Trump will declare war on white folk or something.
- Mitch McConnell could have a crisis of the soul, realize that no tax cut or stacked federal judiciary is worth the immolation of the Republic and all that it once aspired to stand for, and steel himself to do his sacred duty, whipping the votes to convict Trump in the inevitable impeachment trial. Sorry. Scratch that.
- William Barr could have a crisis of the soul and...never mind.
- Nobody’s that lucky for that long. Now that’s just a law. Trump has been weaving an elaborate tapestry of heinous criminality, corruption, and general skullduggery for the better part of 60 years, and now that he’s under the klieg lights in the Oval, it just has to catch up with him. It just has to. Nobody skates forever, not when he keeps going back to the cookie jar again and again and again. That’s a law.
- Look, he’s not a healthy guy. Remember during the campaign when he produced that letter from his doctor, and it said that “All his tests came back positive”? When medical tests come back positive, that’s a bad thing! It’s actually negative! Like, say, your tests come back positive for Lhassa fever, or penile cancer. Those aren’t the kind of test results you want. Of course, we don’t know what they tested for – maybe he came back positive for toe fungus and eczema. But the letter said “all” the tests, so maybe it was a great long series of things, and one of them was ebola. Also, he’s just got to be on the ragged edge of a cardiovascular catastrophe. Gotta be.
- His usefulness to a lot of mob bosses, Russian oligarchs, and foreign tyrants may just, you know, run out. When he’s in the spotlight, they’re in the spotlight, know what I mean? Remember that great scene in the Sopranos, when Silvio was asked his opinion on what should happen to some guy who was becoming a threat, and after a few moments to consider he said “I genuinely don’t think there’s anything to gain by keeping him around”? ‘Nuff said.
- Just on general principles an unreasoning bucket of orange Crisco can’t possibly be the thing that brings a superpower to its knees, and history’s greatest experiment in government by the people, for the people, to an end. They survived a civil war that killed over 600,000 Americans. They survived McCarthyism, Watergate, the Great Depression, World War II, and this is how it ends? Nah. It cannot be so.
- Say I’m wrong about 2019. He’ll never win in 2020. Sorry. Scratch that.
You must feel better now! I sure do!
1025 words, it says here. Getting there…