The week just past has been, for the Great Sentient Majority, the most tragic seven days since the week of 9/11. The one-two punch of Biden and Immunity has been brutal.
Since mid-May, we’d been salivating for the debate. Oh, how we pre-gloated about how badly Trump would be damaged. There was even a prediction that things would be so tough for him — what with Biden ridiculing him so savagely and the moderators hammering away mercilessly at his embrace of fascism — that he would lose control, say “Fuck this,” and storm off the stage.
Then we’d get the immunity decision from the Supreme Court — sure, they’d probably throw Trump a bone, but most of it would finally let the January 6th trial start moving forward. And then would come his sentencing by unlikely-to-be-feeling-very-merciful Judge Merchan, scheduled for a week from today. Clear our calendars, we’re going to need a full day to wallow in that.
We’d been laughing at his honking on about batteries and sharks and electrocution and planes that can’t fly if the sun goes down and windmills and a fictional cannibal. Laughing at Trump is part of the good citizen job description, and it’s the fun part, now made all the sweeter by the imminence of his lifelong-overdue comeuppance, and the certainty that this would merely be the first of them. Ah, how great everything was going on June 26th.
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