by Noah
So now we have Jack Smith. Smith. Jack Smith. Quite a name there! Cue the music! And that no nonsense face. Substance? Who knows, but the years (and they are many) have taught me to expect nothing. Go ahead, surprise me! Please!!!!!!! I don't even need the bikini girls with machine guns. Just, please let's see some action! Let's see a certain orange head on a platter in prime time! For once in my life? And none of those damn pardons, either.
Still, I love the fact that at least the Orange Menace To Society, the GOP's pride and joy, is screaming out endlessly on his pathetic "Truth Antisocial" platform. I relish his deepening fear and paranoia as it strikes so deep. The wailing! The torture of the traitorous man! It's a tasty avant-garde symphony! Send the traitor a skid of ketchup bottles. Watch him turn the inner bunker walls of Mar-a-Lago into a cheap, knockoff Jackson Pollock as his frail, all but completely gone mind hears the approaching voices and the doors of the black SUVs slamming out at the gate. And they aren't even there.
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