The hour is late for “Joe Biden.” His sojourn in America’s highest office was one long twilight of pretending to be effectual, or merely present, and now even that abject pantomime slips into a place of nullity, where all is still and dark. What does he do these languorous weekends at the fabled Delaware beach house? Stare out at the empty Atlantic horizon over an uneaten egg salad sandwich with the crusts cut off? Does he even suspect that the world is already turning without him?
The pressure is mounting for some group of somebodies to arrange his exit from the scene. Of course, there is no public discussion of that among the somebodies because everything they have been doing for years happens sub rosa, in addition to being of dubious legality. Despite the most formidable praetorian protections — a depraved justice department, a Gestapo-caliber FBI, a debauched news media — the arrows of culpability are flying clean through the beach house windows at that immobilized figure sitting in the crepuscular gloom.
Forgive me for bringing this up, but remember the first impeachment of Mr. Trump on the grounds of a phone call to freshly-minted President Z in Ukraine pertaining to some fishy matters around the Burisma gas company? Yes, Mr. T was impeached over a mere inquiry into possible misconduct by a former high US official (being one “Joe Biden,” ex-veep) and his bag-man son. The setup was patently obvious even to us bloggers who enjoy no intimate correspondence with organelles of the DC Blob. A CIA spook “whistleblower” named Eric Ciaramella (sssshhhh) was injected into the scene with help from the devious Col. Vindman at NSA and an assist from Intel Community Inspector General Michael Atkinson… and voila! Recall the solemn pageantry of Nancy Pelosi’s march across the Capitol rotunda with the hallowed bill of impeachment on a satin pillow….
The $5.00 words in this article are very impressive. The writer should be proud. 🤗🤗🤗