The
ultimate conman Donald Trump feels cornered. Like a proverbial rat.
He
is showing his teeth. Again.
(Not
a bad metaphor if you prefer cheesecake and chasing tail.)
His
current favorite attorney Michael Cohen has suffered the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune by having his workplace and residences searched by a posse
of polite federal law enforcement seeking details of the Access Hollywood tape
and 2016 campaign payoffs to Donald’s extramarital sexual partners, a task
apparently shouldered in pre-campaign years by attorney Marc Kasowitz.
We
have also learned that Cohen has been taping telephone conversations for years,
probably including those with his boss. Perhaps without consent, which violates
New York State law. Oh Brother (where art thou?).
Kasowitz
was smart enough to get out of the way once Trump ascended to the Oval Office,
but Cohen the fixer has been quoted as being willing to do anything for Trump,
to take a bullet, leap tall buildings in a single bound, operate as Trump’s consigliere.
“Anything”?
Really? His loyalty surely doesn’t include doing a stretch in federal stir.
And
we just heard that Cohen’s attorney is seeking a stay in the Stormy Daniels
hush money case so that Cohen can plead the Fifth. Alas, Michael neglected to
appear at the court hearing he requested for this morning, spoke to Trump
during the day, appears to have learned of Trump’s full pardon for Scooter
Libby who publicly exposed and thereby endangered CIA agent Valerie Plame and
her contacts around the world when Bush W was in charge.
Sending
a message, anyone?
If
so, that message was received by federal district court Judge Kimba Wood who was
mighty annoyed, ordering Cohen to appear first thing Monday morning to answer
questions.
(Factoid:
Judge Wood was nominated by Bill Clinton to be Attorney General, but was too gun-shy
to endure the gauntlet of seemingly illegal nanny employment, although in fact Wood
was in full compliance; nevertheless her nomination was withdrawn.) Would a
long-time federal trial judge forget her public humiliation when she was
nominated for U.S. Attorney General? Not bloody likely.
In
any event, Michael Cohen, that dog won’t hunt.
Donald
must be apoplectic. His loyalists can't let a little thing like
self-incrimination prevent them from protecting Him—The Big Enchilada, The Top
Dog?
We
also heard that Cohen lied about being in Prague to meet with his Russian
handlers during the 2016 election but believed that the lack of a specific border
stamp in his passport would support his lie. Wrong. Open EU borders does not obviate
the existence of all border-crossing records from all cooperating countries.
And
the Steele Dossier claims that “Cohen was dispatched to Prague to clean up the mess
left behind by two revelations: that Trump’s former campaign manager Paul
Manafort had a financial relationship with a politically toxic Ukrainian
president and that campaign adviser Carter Page visited top Russian officials.”
This
is truly hot stuff.
Only
the Vegas bookies may have anything approaching a handle on this one.
And
I would guess that the jig may—as they say—be up.
Even
the Senate is actually working in a bipartisan way to enact legislation to
prevent Trump from emasculating Robert Mueller. Of course, “working on”
legislation does not mean voting for legislation or enacting legislation or
getting enough votes to override a presidential veto.
So
let’s scratch that maneuver from our spring Wish List.
This
week Trump was faced with the choice of:
(1)
flying down to Peru to hobnob at a trade summit with a variety of would-be
dictators who don’t—to their shame—speak English so that the Mighty Sheriff of
DC could smooth things over South of the Border (he sent Pence and Jarvanka in
his place); or
(2)
beating a retreat to Mar-a-Lago to take some mulligans on the golf course and
drive his cart over the greens; or
(3)
remaining in the White House to alert the Syrians precisely when and how the
U.S. would be responding militarily to the latest civilian nerve gas bombing,
giving Syria oodles of time to hide its warplanes and assorted military materiél from U.S. drones and other surveillance; or
(4)
plotting in his bedroom at the witching hour precisely how and when to fire Rod
Rosenstein and rid himself of Robert Mueller, the man who haunts his
nightmares, exemplifies every virtue that Trump eschews, and in time Will Bring
Trump Down.
Donald
even ignored opening day at the Washington Nationals (for the second straight
year) because if doing a thing doesn’t result in rapturous personal attention
or at least a financial windfall, then it isn’t worth doing at all.
Them’s
not the kind of choices that Donnie relishes. He’d rather pursue women young
enough to be his granddaughters, eat an overcooked steak dinner smothered in
ketchup along with two scoops of ice-cream, hold a triumphant post-campaign
rally in a red state, or spend the wee hours ensconced in his White House
bedroom on his cell phone talking to loyalists, misspelling Twitter posts,
demonstrating his misunderstanding of Just About Everything in those posts, and
confirming to the world that his educational level is on a par with Miss
Feeney’s Sixth Grade class.
Running
the U.S. government, perhaps the most demanding responsibility on the planet,
exemplifies the following for Trump, as one anonymous GOP congressman has
described the job:
“He
wakes up in the morning, sh*ts all over Twitter, sh*ts all over us, sh*ts all
over his staff, then hits golf balls. F*ck him.”
Not
a sterling job recommendation for a New York City real estate mogul.
Enormous
interest exemptions on borrowed real estate investment monies. Five business
bankruptcies. Sudden massive worker layoffs. Unpaid contractors and laborers.
Construction bribes. Lots of babes. Golf clubs with phony Time Magazine covers
and low-paid foreign workers allocated by Trump’s own Department of State.
Donald
Trump is a swindler awash in illegalities with branded hotels and condos that
hide overseas monies, web-site clothing manufactured cheaply abroad, underpaid
employees and eager cohorts, grown children following in his footsteps, secret
political and “charitable” funds, conspiracies and cover-ups, lies and “fake
news,” distractions that flood our living rooms day after endless day, dyed
hair and combed-over bald spots . . . the Art of the Con writ large.
He
has had a susceptible audience of gullible Americans who are convinced that
white male European America must continue to hold the reins of power to protect
them from Others.
You’ve
got to be carefully taught.
And
this grifter in the White House learned the Bunco Business at his daddy’s knee.
That
obsession has governed his entire life, his personal relationships, his
construction empire, his inability to understand the concerns of anyone or
anything that interferes with the Adulation of Donald Trump: first act, second
act, and finale, which America fervently hopes will end soon. In a federal
lock-up.
Curtain
coming down?
Meanwhile
. . . James Comey has begun a book tour for A Higher Loyalty: Truth, Lies, and Leadership,
and pulls no punches, even zeroing in on Trump’s pleading request that Comey
investigate the Russian hotel golden showers hotel incident “pee tape” described
in the Steele report to reassure his wife that the event could never have
occurred. Trump clearly worried there was a small chance
Melania might believe that Russian hookers actually peed on a hotel bed where
Trump was staying.
“Comey
muses in the book why Melania might ever entertain the idea her husband was
into golden showers.” Readers?
In
the Wizard of Oz, the place name “Oz” is the
abbreviation for ounce, which is the standard for measuring gold. Like the
gold-plated Trump Tower residence of the King of Con who resides there when he
is not squatting astride our nation’s capital, soiling it.
Can Dorothy save us? Or Toto? Or the Tinman, the Scarecrow, or
the Cowardly Lion? Are there enough dog smarts, heart, brains, or courage
contained in the hollow figure of Trump the President? Few people believe that,
and fewer think Trump will ever change or focus on the commonweal—the people’s
good.
One slight ray of hope is Professor Alan Dershowitz’s dinner
invite the other night to the White House to feast on ravioli with that
Exemplar of Taste Donald Trump. Donald unloaded his fears on Dershowitz during
the meal, (which was actually planned in order to discuss the Middle East
situation), but Good Counselor Dershowitz is keeping mum about precisely what
was discussed.
Nevertheless, we should all breathe slightly easier to have
Dershowitz in the picture as Donald’s confidante from three decades
ago—regardless of his wavering views on the status of civil rights and
liberties in the Age of Trump. He may just talk Donald out of the most stupid
move possible—the firing of Robert Mueller.
We should rejoice at the prospect of a man of rectitude being
the recipient of the confidential ravings of Trump because maybe, just maybe,
Dershowitz can talk Donald down from the heights of improvidence and bravado.
He is, as he keeps insisting, merely a retired practitioner, law professor, and
“independent outside commentator.” In the absence of a full roster of
presidential counsel to advise Trump on an appropriate response to the Mueller
team—a roster which Dershowitz declines to join after so many others either
quit or refused offers—the “civil libertarian and skeptic of prosecutorial
power” might be the Fifth Column in the White House that Trump’s frazzled
advocates will value and hear.
Or
not.
Updated March 13
No comments:
Post a Comment