Ho hum. I see some deep-pockets blowhard strolled in and out of court again yesterday, without consequences, as per usual. Not even a mug shot.
Shit, I’ve done more time than this blabbering plastic sack of fast-food farts, a serial liar who cheats at golf and would sell his idiot children to the Saudis, if he could find one dumb and mean enough to buy them for sex toys and/or dog food.
And I didn’t have to lip off to the cops, DAs, or judges to get jugged, either.
No, that would’ve been one of my bros, the dude who told the graying Colfax beat cop with the rookie partner: “You can’t arrest us for walking out of a bar with a beer.”
Ho, ho. Wrong again.
This regrettable incident took place in the Glory Days, when my friends and I were basically ambulatory recruiting posters for the War On Drugs. We’d have let the feds put our faces on a “Know Your Enemy” flyer if they paid us in cocaine and Stoli.
None of us was wealthy. We had no well-connected allies. We had dedicated ourselves to scaling new heights of impairment and then tumbling down the other side into a crusty rental house that used to be part of a Glendale nursery. For plants. Not children.
And thus we learned how to talk to cops. Be polite. Rely upon the short, simple words you can still pronounce without drooling. Don’t let the nice flatfoot see the devils raging behind your blood-red eyeballs.
And never, under any circumstances, tell a cop, “You can’t arrest us for [insert your offense here].”
My friend forgot this cardinal rule — only for a moment — but that’s all it takes. Loose lips sink ships, especially when the crew is hammered. And so we all got a fun ride in the drunk wagon and a night to remember in the Denver calaboose, where we met some fascinating people.
One was a duster (crazed on PCP), and he was quickly awarded the entire drunk tank for his earsplitting arguments with people or Things who were not there. We more numerous but much less scary drunks got packed into two-man cells so we could enjoy the floor show from a safe distance.
Another was a glum-looking permed and pastel-leisure-suited gent who had gotten popped for soliciting a hooker who turned out to be a vice cop. He could see his apartment from our cell, but not his wife inside it. He was not looking forward to seeing her in his new digs.
We got sprung in the morning without charges. Go and sin no more, you silly little shits, they told us. But goddamn it, we did our time.
If only we’d been riot-inciting former presidents of the United States whose Florida resort’s crappers were overflowing with national secrets instead of addled stoners getting sideways with a Colfax cop.
We’d have been back in the Satire Lounge before closing time.
Mad Blog Media 
JFC. Trump is bad enough. The fact that most of the Grand Odious Party is defending him really makes me wonder what these people are smoking.
I was Federally certified to be a classification officer once, which was a requirement for my particular job on The Dark Side. I know what happens to normal people who pull the shit he did, and it isn’t nice. This fucker needs to have his nuts put in a vice.
It’s a long old 15 minutes this dude is getting, que no? His story grows tiresome. And so does that of his enablers.
Remember his quip about how he could “stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody” and not “lose any voters?” For once it seems he spoke the truth. Who knew?
The fact that dumpster did not provide an attorney for his manservant in his court appearance show both his disregard for anyone besides himself but also his stupidity. The valet is having a separate arraignment and plea court date. You think a night in the slam and a chat with the prosecution attorneys the next morning is in his future? Will he flip?
Here is hoping the underling sings.
Orange Julius Caesar couldn’t even hire himself a new shyster for this appearance. Poor sod had to make do with a couple of his old retreads before jetting off to Joisey to talk shit.
I dunno if his man Friday will sing. He smells like a True Believer to me. Some swabs just can’t resist the temptation to go down with the ship. Remember your “Catcher in the Rye”:
Meanwhile, says Ty Cobb, a former Trump White House lawyer who knew Nauta in his capacity as Trump’s valet: “I’d be shocked if Trump said 10 words a day to [Nauta]. Two of the words not in Trump’s vocabulary? ‘Thank you.’”
Have fun in prison, pal.
If he stays in key, and gives them eyewitness testimony against the defendant, I think jail would not be called for. To paraphrase your post, go forth and be stupid no more should be the guidance. Plus a misdemeanor conviction to insure he never receives a security clearance again. If he won’t flip, seems the federal average jail time for this is about 7 years, plus a record as a convicted felon. The only way to muzzle don the con is jail time.
I’m so tired of this bozo. And the superhero movies, too. But — if The Batman would beat the stuffing out of this Joke Hair in prime time, that I would watch.
Violence always rebounds on one’s self. That said, I would pay a dollar to see that!
“This town needs an enema”. Sounds remarkably like Fanta Se.
Oy. If only we didn’t know now what we didn’t know then.
And praise Jeebus and Al Gore that no one had invented the intertubes back in the nineteen hundred and seventies.
“Against the Wind.” Well quoted, sir. And let us also praise the memory of Steve Jobs, who had not yet invented the iPhone. Think of all the editors we would never have fooled into hiring us.
“Christ, Walt, look at this YouTube video. You want to bring these guys into our newsroom? Why not just hire a couple wolverines and a few of those fuggin’ bats Hunter Thompson was always yelling about?”
Meanwhile, here’s what happens when the Little People run amok with the nation’s secrets.
Moreover, in addition, also, and too, this will not exactly quicken the spinning of the wheels of justice.
Ninety days minimum is my estimate. Maybe longer for SCI stuff. Maybe never for some documents based on need to know. An exception would be an attorney that had a clearance in the last three years.
My sources hint that the process has gotten a little quicker since the OPM security debacle buggered it all to hell. But still, it ain’t exactly like swinging by the grocery for some chips and dip. Especially if you’re the kind of shyster that pals around with seditionists.
After reflection, your sources are probably right. I’ve been out of this particular game for 19 years, and Jack Smith wants a speedy trial. Who turns down Jack Smith?
Even if they expedite, it is hard to say how long it would take. Looks like the lawyers need an SCI, not just a Secret-NSI clearance, and there is one document labelled S//FRD, so they might need some sort of RD/FRD access authorization. If the lawyers have shady backgrounds or are boy scouts matters, too. My guess is this will delay things a fair bit.
But what about jurors? Do they have to be cleared? How will this work?
Finally, do they actually have to read the goodies, or can someone stipulate the level and category without spilling the beans?
Oy. This is why the lawyers all drive better cars than we do. Ever seen a mouthpiece rocking a 2005 Subaru Forester? A public defender, maybe.
Jimmy drove an Esteem and look how far that got him.
Hey! What a story line. Orange maximouth asks one of his aids to give Saul a call to help his case out, believing that Saul is a real person. “He’s in prison in Florence? Well tell him that if he helps me out that I’ll pardon him!” Perhaps Odenkirk would go along with a little ruse…. Naw.. But is a humorous thought.
The Wife got home from a long week at a conference today and I read her this column. Once again you have uncorked a fine vintage. She especially liked the metaphor about the sack of fast-food farts.
Hey, gracias to you and the wife, JP. Now and again I get lucky with the old Word Salad Spinner.
I’m luckier still when it comes to weeklong conferences. Don’t gotta do ’em atall atall.
Here for your consideration is a speech re meetings I’ve used more and more in the past 15 years: “As I enter the autumn and winter of my years; and the days and hours ahead of me continue to dwindle in number; I’m less and less inclined to spend them in meetings. No thank you!” 🙂