Sen. DeMille (R-Rome) makes a point of order.
Herself was giddy with anticipation this morning, chirping merrily about impeachment.
“It’s trial, not impeachment,” I mumbled as I lurched creakily out of bed. “He’s already been impeached. Twice.”
“Don’t give me any of your semantics,” she retorted, then sang, “Impeachment, impeachment, impeachment,” as she flounced out of the bedroom and back to her office, where she had already begun flogging herself with NPR’s “Morning Edition.”
Frankly, I have been enjoying hearing and reading next to nothing about you-know-who, which of course is exactly what they want. Who are “they,” you ask? You know. Them. Those guys.
I know, I know. He’s got it coming. And I’d like to see him get it, too. I mean, you don’t not prosecute the guy who robs the bank just because he had already fled the scene with the dinero. And chapeau to the House for taking another swing at this fat orange piñata.
But it all feels like one of those cast-of-thousands movies where all the wrong Romans wind up on the pointy end of the sword or quietly bleeding out in a bath somewhere. There are too many senators who think they can be the next Orange Julius Caesar, if only they can ensure that the rabble doesn’t get its togas in a twist.
Mad Blog Media 