So wrathful, so mighty is our First Felon, he’s blown a chunk of our regressively culled taxes to immolate a skiff that looked to be lugging a ‘cargo’ of 11 souls toward Suriname. (That is, DIRECTLY AWAY FROM US.) Which vessel he, Trump, paints (abstract expressionist at best) as a hauler of killer drugs to our own shores.
Granted, as panga boats go, this one was big. But still. With so many folks on board, no way could it have borne an appreciable (let alone YUGE) load to nearby Trinidad (let alone to, say, Tallahassee).
Speaking of drugs, let’s dare to look close to home. While proclaiming his own (frankly perverse) pardon of Trump ally/ bribe taker/ drug lord Juan O. Hernandez, our dear leader regally (& surreally) honked “MAKE HONDURAS GREAT AGAIN!”
Not to distress ourselves here, but let’s face it. For far lesser stuff, scads of non-Trumpers have been pegged (what else?) drug perps. And wouldn’t you know it? Just last year, this Hernandez dipstick, this self-same bro of Trump’s, was DULY CONVICTED OF WORKING WITH JOAQUIN “EL CHAPO” GUZMAN TO FLOOD OUR HOMELAND WITH 400+ TONS OF COCAINE.
Oh, well. Enter ‘Drug Czar Donnie.’ Last month, this self-styled Lord Protector From Evil Substances claimed that each time he’s ‘heroically’ blasted some defenseless skiff, he’s saved U.S. lives BY THE TENS OF THOUSANDS.
At best, that’s a triple cheese whopper. Fact is, those 13 million ounces (that we know of!) of pure, uncut coke that the El Chapo/ Hernandez connection foisted on the fruited plain comprised an actual, likely ‘high lethality’ onslaught.
Those 11 dudes (& perhaps some miscellany) so louchely bombed en route to Suriname, not so much.
The upshot: here & now, as ever, Trump is, at best, a fraught, fake savior. At worst, well, you get the idea.
So, for Pete’s (not Hegseth’s!) sake, let’s declaim as much early and often. While legal eagles parse such subtleties as first versus second “taps,” let’s keep our eyes on the boat- that is, on the big picture afforded by Big Blonder’s pervading smoke and mirrors. (Truth to tell, his ‘tap dance’ befalls us like some chilling danse macabre. Or even, if you will, like flamenco dancers crushing imaginary bugs in a china shop- with vast collateral damage.)
In a related trope: Trump’s oily, brutal, shocking and awing, power-crazed charade bodes, for our nation, the military dirge “Taps.” The sooner all Dems, indies, & decent Republicans grasp that fact, the faster our hope to survive intact may recover.
