Americans are just crazy, that's all. How else explain that a psychopath is allowed to wreck the joint and flush the Constitution down the toilet, while those who could check him act like pieces of furniture? We can even name them all. We see them being interviewed, and proudly speaking the language of footstools, recliners and a chaise-longe or two, while millions begin to starve and freeze in the gutters - millions of us.
There are many safeguards in our system designed to deal with the possibility that a crazy man will be given the nuclear codes and command of the mightiest military force ever imagined. But for these safeguards to work, somebody whose job it is has to say when enough is too much. And so far, well, "barcalounger" is the most we're getting out of that antique road-show.
Anybody can tell that this guy went off the deep end long ago. But apparently, nobody in that strange gas-bubble around the Capitol. Maybe they're too close. You know: a watched pot. Maybe they need some kind of yardstick? How should we measure that? How should we measure incompetence and insanity?
I can answer that: the same way our government and our legal system have always measured everything. They are inscribed in our most hallowed national documents, and the speeches of our most exalted politicians. Just two: Blood and Treasure.
It's clear to ordinary mortals that the forty-fifth president overdrew both his (our) accounts a long time ago. About the first time he went to Florida to play golf with all the oligarchs and blab national security secrets in the restaurant. I'm sure I need not enumerate either the national debt or the incredible body-count, directly attributable to this one man's very public acts.
Which brings up a question: who's counting? Is anybody counting? How is it that the numbers keep soaring, exponentially now, and everyone (except our beloved Bernie, and The Squad) is imitating artfully arranged inanimate objects?
Because the first and most obvious answer is that they aren't counting: they are operating this insult-puppet, while they rob us blind. When the dust clears, it'll be wagon tracks and popcorn sacks.
Lawyers have been taught for years to advise clients on how to circumvent the spirit of any law. Seeking redress before an American court is nearly impossible unless plaintiffs can show, well, one of those two American measures, financial, or (grievous) bodily, harm. There are nuances, such as defamation, but ultimately these are measured the same way. Otherwise, good luck finding a mouthpiece who'll work for you. And lawsuits are expensive and time-consuming, which in itself tilts the legal playing field in favor of the wealthy and the government. Which occupy the same corpus just now.
45 has a long track record of bilking people out of their time and money - blood and treasure, again - and then taking them to court on some tru- um, bogus charge that's certain to drain their bank account with endless legal fees until they just give up. He's done this so often and so successfully that women claiming he raped them prefer not to go public, partly because they feel stupid for having been caught anywhere near a man whose only associates are shysters and grifters, and partly because they feel really stupid for signing away their reputation with one of the tear-off NDA forms-on-a-roll he probably carries in the pocket of his jacket.
This lifestyle-choice, if I may call it that, has been so successful that we made him our national leader (two measures, again). One can only surmise that the logic behind this is that somebody this crass, somebody this flagrantly delicto, could stand up against the rest of the thugs and drug pushers out there leading the non-exceptionalist nations of the world. Yeah, that must be it. A guy who could steal Putin's tie-tack or spit in Kim's beer and get away with it.
It won't do. You don't believe that, and neither to I. Those cartoon potentates make up silly dances with swords to make him do, and snigger behind his back, and change their spit-shiney shoes when he finally leaves. It's plain as plain that this guy is deranged, and suffers from traumatic childhood abuse, and craves attention like heroin. He has to have the spotlight every second of every minute, or he starts shaking. He has no vision of a future, just a past, a past with Dad in it, waiting to ridicule him relentlessly, and worse. Because he was second choice, and Dad never let him forget it. That's the only future for 45. And he'll show'im. He will. He'll be Number One. Number One!
Well, 45, actually. Loser.
But maybe we were wrong about 45. Maybe he did have a vision and a mission and a purpose after all, behind all the chaos and confusion he has created in four short years. A method to his madness (has it only been four?). Don't forget the Blood and Treasure: just after Christmas, in the last hours of his term, another billion-plus for the Wall in the current Congressional bone of contention, sitting up there on a nervous folding chair, being eyed balefully by the end-tables and loveseats. Billions to go after the trillions dumped on a Wall Street with coffers so full the money is spilling out into the streets, where nobody is picking it up, the sanitation crews are all out on Hart Island bulldozing another layer of dirt over Potter's Field. So much Treasure the very concept has little meaning anymore. But none of it is gonna trickle down to losers!
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