Author Richard Cahill's Website--Living By Our Motto:"There Are No Stupid Questions, Just Stupid People Asking Questions Everybody else already knows the answer to."

​Trump is threatening to birth the Patriot Party, which will be called that because the White, Mostly Guy Racists with Guns Party is too long to fit on a ballot. There’s also talk of calling it the MAGA party, but that’ll never fly, because no one on the Senate floor wants to be recognized as the “MAGAT from Mississippi.”
 
The fact is that Trump is too lazy to actually form a political party that will make a significant difference to the politics of the USA. The last time that happened was when the Republican Party was formed in response to the issue of slavery. There’s nothing nowadays that compares to the issue of slavery, because slavery was real and Q is not.
 
I mean, I guess you could start a political party and call yourself the Patriot Party if you defined patriotism as an inchoate hatred of anyone who is smarter and/or browner than you and your hunting buddies, and also possessing a set of grooming habits and personality traits that mean you guys only sporadically get laid, if at all.
 
Not everybody is going to sign up for that definition of patriotism, but, more importantly, no one is going to be paying attention to Trump two years from now. First off, he doesn’t have Twitter. Already his threats are muffled, mere swamp gas rising from Florida’s (The Pond Scum State) marshes. He’s going to be broke. His convictions in a couple states and the federal courts are going to be on appeal, probably until he’s dead, so all those Facebook memes where he’s in prison orange are a waste of time, although I enjoy them as much as anybody else.
 
Mostly, though, the Secret Service isn’t going to be able to keep him from giving up that DNA sample that will prove he raped E. Jean Carroll back in the 90’s. There’s no doubt he did this, since giving up the DNA would prove his innocence, and since he doesn’t want to, he’s guilty.
 
Of course, some rabid Trumpworlders would say that sperm stain doesn’t prove he’s guilty of raping someone in a coat closet, that he could just have been exercising his Constitutional right to pleasure himself in a coat closet, and E. Jean Carroll just got in his way.
 
Trump, of course, will not be embarrassed by being proved a rapist. He will be more embarrassed by the fact that E. Jean Carroll doesn’t look quite as sweet as she did 25 years ago, which none of us does, except Jennifer Anniston, including Trump. So, he’ll continue to claim couldn’t have raped anybody he doesn’t currently find attractive. This is what veteran criminal attorneys call the “I’m lower than centipede shit” defense.
 
He’ll continue to deny it, claiming, as he does now, the Ms. Carroll is “not my type,” and that she planted his wad on her dress, having obtained his sperm off a coffee table or something.
 
Whatever, but if at future Trump rallies, “Lock her up!” is replaced by “She’s not his type!” they’re bound to be a little less inspirational. People will wander away listlessly, thinking things like, “I voted for the guy twice. Why don’t I have a closet big enough to have sex in?”
 
Or, “Really? A coffee table?”

Republicans plan to wash their hands of all the problems of the Trump years by Sunday afternoon latest, said Joe Redstate, a spokesman for the party, today.
 
Joe, before we get started, I haven’t talked to you in five years. Where you been?
 
“Prison. Accidentally spent some campaign funds on a four-month bender in Monte Carlo. It was all a misunderstanding, but the Deep State prosecuted me in a clear case of political vindictiveness. But Trump pardoned me, so I’m all cool now. Here’s where we in the GOP stand.
 
“Unemployment, civil unrest and most of all the virus, the virus, the virus, will all be entirely Joe Biden’s doing by the time 60 Minutes comes on on Sunday. Economy going back in the shitter? Biden. Bands of pointy-headed lunatics trashing DC? Again, Biden. Why wouldn’t he make nice with them and agree he wouldn’t be President except for George Soros’ help? 500,000 dead from the ‘rona by February? What did Biden do to stop that? And we in the GOP have ordered literally crates of hankies so we can start crying over the deficit again.”
 
What about all the Republican calls to national unity?
 
“National unity means letting Trump off the hook for everything he ever did, while kicking Joe Biden in his 78-year-old testicles for anything he tries to do. That’s the definition of national reconciliation. Don’t you watch Hannity?
 
Not that often. What about Republican disunity? Isn’t Trump splitting the party on his way out the door?
 
“Again, you libs are exaggerating the problem. True, there are different viewpoints among the Republican faithful. There’s the wing of the Republican party that thinks that true liberty is making sure a woman has to go at least 500 miles to get an abortion, that rich people already do enough for this country by having really nice properties that you’d better not set foot on, unless you’re there to cut the grass, to be asked to pay much in taxes, and that old people living on a thousand bucks a month in Social Security are a bigger drain on society than drug companies that charge $500 bucks a month for insulin.
 
“On the other hand, you’ve got the Republicans who think that all Democrats and everybody in California are pedophile members of a giant worldwide conspiracy that includes 5G, Venezuela and Bill Gates, and that white people are so horribly oppressed nowadays that the only solution for them is to band together and carry automatic weapons in public. Many of these Republicans, who use to confine their violent stupidities to their homes, or tailgate parties at college football games, or to dive bars with at least three light beers on tap, are fresh to the political scene. We don’t want to dampen their new-found enthusiasm for the Republican cause by pointing out that some of their ideas are about as likely as Jeff Bezos having trouble coming up with the money for his cable bill. Just stay on the shooting range and away from our country clubs is all we ask.”
 
Actually, those seem like pretty intractable differences. Are you sure the GOP won’t split into two, Regular Republicans Who Try to Bore You into Not Noticing They’re Stealing from You, and Shoot Up the Statehouse Republicans?
 
“No, but I like those names. No, Republicans will stay united, because we all fight against the same thing.”
 
Let me guess—socialism?
 
“You’re not as dumb as you look, pal.”

Bill Belichick, multi-Super Bowl winning coach and professional football cheater, recently made headlines when he declined to be awarded a Presidential Medal of Freedom by the Caucasian-in-Chief, who in his final days in office, having solidified his grasp on the title of Worst President Ever, has nothing to do but give out stomach-churning pardons and questionable awards.
 
Belichick was having nothing of it, despite being nearly as shady and unpleasant as Trump. He turned the award down, releasing a short statement that might as well have said, “Hey, bonehead, I work with a lot of black guys, you know.”
 
He ‘s not the only one. Here’s just some of the other people that have nixed the Medal when recently offered it by Trump, along with their explanations for why they were turning it down.
 
SNOOP DOG: Eclectic rapper, friend of Martha Stewart, and best known for being baked since Jimmy Carter was President, who simply said. “Fo’ nizzle, hizzle.”
 
PETE ROSE: Disgraced gambler and three-time World Series winner: “Does it get me into the Hall of Fame? No? Forget it, I wanna be in the Hall of Fame.”
 
RUDY GIULIANI: “Just pay my fucking bill instead, wouldya?”
 
LORI LAUGHLIN: “I’d do almost anything to rehabilitate my reputation, but your invitation to ‘play in my mushroom garden, afterwards,’ is not one of those things.”
 
MILLI VANILLI: Famous fakes from the ‘90’s, just like Trump.  “Well, one of us is dead, so it’s just me. And you need to be on a stage to get this award? I don’t need to be laughed off another stage. For sure.”
 
ALL THE KARDASHIANS: “Does it look good glued to our nipples? We only wear things that look good glued to our nipples. Forget it.”
 
“CASH ME OUTSIDE” GIRL: “What’s that? I don’t need that. Buy me a real necklace if you want some. Or give me some blow. Do you have any blow? No? Then get lost, before I kick you in the nuts.”
 
DEEPAK CHOPRA: The psychobabbling mystic said, “We inhale the cognizance of being, and exhale the meaning of existence. So, breathing is the spatula that flips us back and forth between our souls and the universe. But no thanks to your fucking award.”
 
Other individuals unable to accept the award, even though Trump wanted to give it to them were Deadpool, Rocky Balboa, the mayor in “Jaws” and Clifford the Big Red Dog. Trump had to be reminded that these were fictional characters and hence not eligible for the Medal of Freedom.

With just nine days left to drag his dick over the sneeze bar that protects the lunch buffet of our democracy, what will the Caucasian-in-Chief do next? Rumors are he will address the nation today, and he may well call on his followers to rise up again, but since most of them have already left DC, what would that rising up consist of? Painting their faces again and running wild through the two rooms of their local Post Office?
 
No, their next opportunity for poorly organized yet deadly mobbing would be on Joe Biden’s Inauguration day, and that will be tough. The money here is that security is going to be a little more buff for that than it was last week.
 
But he’ll do something, or several somethings, and one of them is going to be going on a pardoning spree like the country has never seen. He’s going to give big, wet, slobbering pardons to his kids and henchmen, pardons that will mean that Rudy Giuliani can sleep at night without worrying about anything happening to him more disturbing than his hair dye rubbing off on his pillow, and America's publishers will never have to bid on "My Life as a Prison Bitch," by J. Kushner.
 
And he’ll pardon himself. He’ll sign that one and maybe even write “Gone golfing, losers. Ha Ha Ha!” underneath his signature.
 
Whom he’s not going to pardon is the riotous goobers who stormed the Capitol in his name last Wednesday. Reportedly, he’s disturbed that they were “low class.” Self-awareness not being Trump’s strong suit, he’s never realized that he’s the ultimate example of white-trash-with-cash, the bigmouth bully at the country club that everybody else who belongs there secretly hates. Trump only pardons people who wear expensive suits, like Roger Stone and Paul Manafort. His mercy is not going to extend to those who can’t afford an interior designer to tell them whether to put their gun rack over the sofa or the fireplace.
 
He’s not likely to start a nuclear war with China or Russia, the only two countries that could give us a decent match-up in that form of martial arts, because Ivanka has trademarks in China and he’s not going be able to sell US secrets to Putin in return for debt forgiveness if atomic conflagration has made cutting real estate deals less important than finding a place to hide underground.
 
He’s not going to invade Iran. Invasions take planning, and nine days isn’t enough time for the Pentagon to gear up for one. “How about along about the middle of March?” the Joint Chiefs will reply if he asks. “Or never? Never works for us.”
 
He’s going to go to the Alamo and probably sob to his base about all he’s sacrificed to give them what they wanted, which apparently was a moment of sunshine for neo-Nazis, Three Percenters, Oath Keepers, Proud Boys, Q-Anonsters, and others who dwell in the pleasure domes of unreality. He’ll probably compare himself to Davy Crockett and the other defenders of the fort in the way he’s given his life for America, although Davy Crockett never got to bill the Secret Service for staying at his hotels and did, in fact, literally give his life for his cause, and Trump is just going to publicly lie a little more and then have another cheeseburger.
 
To which Trump would no doubt reply, “So what? Davy would be dead by now anyway.”

In his waning days in office, the Caucasian-in-Chief, worried about his unique legacy being tarnished by the possibility that in some future America, somebody would be elected and actually turn out to be a worse President than him, decided that the best way to ensure that wouldn’t happen was to organize a mob to trash the Capitol while Congress was confirming the election of the guy who had trashed him last November. It was a brilliant display of heel-to-wang stompery that left his admirers breathless.
 
It’s not like Trump’s penis hasn’t felt his Florsheims before. Just last week he got himself recorded urging Georgia’s Secretary of State to revise that state’s election returns so that Trump could claim that state’s electoral votes, a dick-drubbing that resulted in two people who couldn’t even get past security at Mar al Lago, because one of them is black and the other is a Jew who isn’t in real estate, being elected to the Senate.
 
But Trump’s latest resounding whack against his own tallywhacker resulted in a series of astonishing events. Here are just a few of them:
 
Just a few weeks ago, some precious pundits were saying that the Republican nomination for President was Trump’s for the taking, in 2024. Those guys are all saying today, “Sure wish I’d shut the fuck up instead of saying that.” Many Republicans who were aw-shucksey about putting together a Presidential campaign while Trump made up his mind about running for years from now are booking flights for Iowa today.
 
Several Senators who used to play to Trump’s base like they were rappers playing to ho’s publicly abandoned him, including sepulchral warmonger Tom Cotton and strident racist banshee Marsha Blackburn.  “My head is out of your ass forever,” proclaimed former Trump boot-licker Lindsey Graham loudly, on the floor of the Senate.
 
That may not be an exact quote.
 
The Capitol Police are studying videos of Black Lives Matter protests to learn how to properly beat and tear-gas people instead of taking selfies with them and letting them past barriers like they were just a bunch of other white guys who liked to hunt and fish and have stupid political opinions.
 
Trump’s own people are leaving the sinking ship like the proverbial rats, because the water is up to the deck rails and the rest of the vessel is on fire. Stephanie Grisham, the former White House press secretary who did not speak to the press, currently First Lady Melania’s chief of staff, grabbed her life jacket yesterday. It is tough to believe that the First Lady didn’t say, “Right behind you, girl,” as Grisham left.
 
And Nick Mulvaney, former White House Chief of Staff, currently Envoy to Northern Ireland, woke up about 4 AM, Northern Ireland time, to resign. Now, going from WH Chief of Staff to envoy to Northern Ireland is like going from starting quarterback to assistant to the water boy on a football team, but, yeah, as of right now, America has no envoy to Northern Ireland.
 
Let that sink in.
 
What’s Trump doing today? My bet is that he’s scribbling pardons as fast as he can, before Pence figures out whether he’s got enough votes to 25th Amendment his ass. Because Pence is mad, as mad as if he had a whole garbage truck’s worth of flies stuck in his styling gel.
 
And one of Trump’s pardons better be for himself because, even though it might not work, he’s not getting one from anybody else.

Looks like Trump’s final notable act as President will be getting recorded while begging Georgia’s Secretary of State to fix the election there so he would be the winner.
 
Pleading and then threatening that guy to try and make him ditch his election results and then just magically proclaim Trump the victor isn’t the kind of Presidential move that gets you a place on Mt. Rushmore. In fact, it’s the kind of move that makes future visitors to that National Monument say, “Hey, isn’t that a pile of bison shit at the bottom of Mt. Rushmore? That reminds me of Trump.”
 
But Trump’s made plenty of other phone calls. Here’s actual quotes from some that weren’t recorded:
 
To the CENTER FOR DISEASE CONTROL: “This virus is mutating? Is there anyone we can call to make it, you know, stop? How about Wuhan? That’s where it’s from, right? Does it still have relatives there? Let them know that they could get hurt, if the mutations don’t stop.”
 
To the SECRET SERVICE: “Look, I know your boys have to protect Joe Biden. I’m not saying you have to do anything. But it’d be a hoot if you flattened the tires on that bike he’s always rolling around on. Or put Super Glue on the inside of his mask. Even better-- where’s the harm in you guys getting ‘lost’ and ‘accidentally’ driving him through a Proud Boys rally? That’d make some great TV.”
 
To the PENTAGON: “The last thing America needs is a full-blown war to hand off to the next President. Still, you guys got any fighter-bomber pilots that really hate Iran? Or just Muslims in general? You know, maybe their folks got a pig farm, or they have friends that were killed by Hezbollah? Let them know I’m feeling them, and let’s put them in the cockpit until January 20th, you know what I mean?”
 
To VLADIMIR PUTIN: “I just need a little more time on those loans, Vlad. I figure I can skim my PAC for at least a hundred million a year for the next four. That makes me just about square with you until 2024, when you and me can set me up for another four years at this address. And Eric’s going to be visiting Moscow with the nuclear codes, I promise, except he thinks they’re the answers to the SAT’s he flunked before I bought his way into college. But you know what’s a great thing, Vlad? Forgiveness. Forgiveness is a great thing. Especially when it comes to loans.”
 
To DEVIN NUNES and JIM JORDAN: “I knew you guys were going to be upset when I gave the Medal of Freedom to that dying windbag Limbaugh ahead of you two. I mean you two have been doing shady shit for me for years. But you’ve got to admit I’ve helped you keep your racist constituents right in your corner. But it’s time. I realize that. You’ll be wearing those ribbons next time you give Adam Schiff the finger.”
 
To RUDY GIULIANI and MICHAEL FLYNN: “All right, we’re set. January 19th at midnight. And how do you spell “martial law," again? (pause) Really? That’s stupid. As stupid as George Conway’s kid. Spell it again, so I can write it on the inside of my wrist. I want that Tweet to be perfect.”
 
To MITCH MCCONNELL and NANCY PELOSI: “Take a look at your garage doors, motherfuckers.”

Trump wants his place in history, despite the fact that most historians are already slobbering over their chance to treat Trump like a beat-up old yellow mattress swarming with bedbugs, or a rabid possum living in a mini-mart dumpster, or a cheating husband in a country-western song.

One of the signs that you have a place in the annals of America is that you have an airport named after you.
 
Trump’s eager to have his airport, so eager that he hinted it would be fine to name an airport after him now, instead of waiting until he’s dead. Trouble is, most of the biggest airports serve big cities, and those big cities definitely did not vote Trump. It would be difficult to find an urban location where someone will not spray paint “Fuck” on the top of every road sign erected to guide the weary traveler to Trump International Airport, so much so that the three-letter code for it might well be FTI.
 
But there are other alternatives, places In our country that voted strongly for Trump and would be proud to nourish his Administration's place in history as other than an extra-sludgy toxic waste dump that we were unwilling dragged through for four years. Here’s a few suggestions:
 
SIOUX CITY, IOWA: This burg in the northwest corner of the state proudly calls itself “The City of Two Seasons—Too Fucking Hot and Too Fucking Cold.” Its chief industries are dealing fentanyl and moving out of town, and it went for Trump by 60%. It's a place where a bust of Trump could be safely erected in the main lobby of the airport without someone smashing its nose off with a baseball bat every week or so.
 
KINGMAN, ARIZONA: Retired racists living in trailer parks made this town a nexus of Trump support—he got nearly 75% of the vote here, as compared to the mere 52% he garnered in Yuma, another hotbed of sunbaked dementia. “A great place to drive through without stopping,” is the near-unanimous opinion of people who have passed that way.
 
PASCO COUNTY, FLORIDA: Featured frequently on the recently canceled “Live PD,” residents here enjoy the favorite local pastimes of driving drunk and police brutality. Low visibility because of clouds of migrating mosquitoes obscuring the runway sometimes makes air travel here excitingly dangerous, but it went 70% for Trump, so South American drug smugglers would be proud to land their planes here to avoid the more socialist airstrips in Tampa and Orlando.
 
CLEVELAND, TENNESSEE: The Great Smoky Mountains make a beautiful backdrop whatever you’re doing here in Cleveland—making moonshine, cooking meth, cultivating bud or just succumbing to a heroin overdose. You voted 78% percent Trump, though, just to avoid getting that pesky healthcare stuff inflicted on you, so an airport here bearing his name would be a proud local landmark.

There’s many more--this handy map is provided for you to pick out more possibilities, for the guy we’re going to be calling “Mr. Ex-President” before Groundhog Day—but I encourage him to pick out this dark-horse contender:
 
LITTLE DIOMEDE ISLAND, ALASKA: True, there’s only air service here six months out of the year, when the sea-ice freezes over hard enough for planes to land on it, but it’s got a feature Trump’s going to love.
 
It’s only two and a half miles from Russia.

Now that Trump has reached the I’m keying-your-car stage of his breakup with the American people, what’s his next move? Shutting down the government while killing off unemployment to millions and allowing evictions to flourish would have been a nice touch, but somebody (Tucker Carlson? Melania? The My Pillow guy?) talked him out of it.
 
We’ve all heard of that guy that served his wife legal papers right after she got out of surgery, (He’s Newt Gingrich, by the way) but that guy is a relationship mastermind compared to Trump. And we’ve all heard stories of that ex-President who just goes batshit when his former finds a new guy, especially a nice older guy who promises to treat her like she deserves to be treated, with respect, dignity, and lots of free vaccine. Trump is deathly afraid that America will love the way Joe Biden kisses its hair. He may very well go full Fatal Attraction, and the pet rabbit that’s getting boiled is us. He's still got 23 days to turn on the stove.
 
But even signing the Covid relief bill at the midnight hour, putting a little show-biz drama into the act, has its downside. It means Trump will be demanding praise, gratitude and recognition of his extraordinary Presidenting abilities again, just for letting twenty million or so Americans continue to be able to keep eating food and living indoors.
 
No matter how it turns out, by Tuesday his pardoning pen will be out again, and the baby-killers and blackmailers of America will be crying out for his mercy. Not to mention his family and friends (Of course, there’s some overlap). And his own fat ass goes without saying—he’ll write that one out as quick as an eighth-grader who’s stayed up all night playing video games can forge a sick note.
 
Kyle Rittenhouse, that puppy-eyed teenage murderer of leftist demonstrators currently out on bail? Trump would love to, but murder is a state crime. Ditto the cop that killed George Floyd. I’m sure Trump would love to make cops killing unarmed minority people always more or less justifiable as part of his Presidential legacy, but those pesky state statutes keep getting in the way.
 
But there’s one guy who could use a great big forgiving Presidential hug right how, and that’s Vladimir Putin. Putin’s done a lot of things he could try wangling a pardon for, like invading other countries, shooting down unarmed airliners, and killing anybody who bad-mouths him. Trump couldn’t pardon him for all of that, but he could pardon him for hacking into what seems to be about every computer network in America right now.
 
Yep, the Russians have broken into our Internet, stolen as many secrets as they could fit in their satchels, and Trump is acting as nonchalantly as if Putin merely forgot to flush the toilet at Mar al Lago after a heavy lunch. A full-fledged pardon can’t be far behind.
 
I’m not kidding. When you check your bank account and it’s suddenly full of rubles instead of dollars, don’t be surprised. When Alexa and Siri start sounding like Natasha from Rocky the Flying Squirrel, don’t say you didn’t hear it here first. I’m a little paranoid, sure. Probably some bored apparatchik is following every letter of this as I type it, and thinking “Nobody pays attention to zis guy. We not going to bother poisoning his underwear.”
 
But I’m not taking any chances. I roll commando from now on. 

One of the ways 2021 will be better than this year is that the world will have its first Christian airline says its founder, Everett Aaron.
 
Mr. Aaron is the founder of Judah I, a small aeronautical firm flying out of Shreveport, Louisiana, on a Christian mission to export missionaries all over the world. Aaron had a vision, apparently, of a fleet of planes stuffed full of Bibles and other missionary goodies, lined up on runways in America, being boarded by godly guys and girls eager to fly off to deep jungles to give indigenous peoples books they couldn’t read and modern Western diseases they wouldn’t survive.
 
One of the things Aaron is proudest of is that Judah I will be able to fly into countries that otherwise wouldn’t let Americans in, because currently we wheeze out more coronavirus particles than any other people on Earth. Other nations have to let missionaries in, he insisted, because of the Godly nature of their work.
 
For all I know, some nations may do this. Others may say, “Are you fucking stoned?” when Everett approaches them about flying in planeloads of coughing Americans in the middle of the pandemic.
 
Aaron drops hints about a future Christian commercial airline, which may not be a bad idea. Praying has always been associated with air travel, from the moment Wilbur prayed Orville would get off the ground in Kitty Hawk to the last people who flew in a 737-Max praying they wouldn’t merge with it, which only goes to show that prayer has as mixed a record in aviation as it has in any other field.
 
I’m not much of a prayer myself, though if I was in Shreveport, I’d be tempted to pray to get out of it. But I’m sure there’s a market out there for an airline where they start off with a Hail Mary before they tell you where the life preserver is and serve you Communion wafers instead of little bags of equally tasteless snacks. Sharing a chalice of wine with the other passengers instead of selecting a cocktail from a well-stocked beverage cart wouldn’t be to my liking, though, and the in-flight entertainment might be a little chaste for my taste.
 
My opportunities for getting one of the female flight attendants to commit adultery with me would be even fewer than they are now, and all the male flight attendants would be rugged men of the cross instead of fashionably gay, so that would take getting used to.  My chance of getting crammed in coach next to a Christian who’s been to too many church bake sales would probably be about the same as getting wedged in next to a guy who weighs as much as a taco truck on an agnostic carrier, so no advantage to Jesus there.

So, I’m probably not going to book a flight on a Christian airline for the foreseeable.
 
Unless I could fly in first class, or as they call it on Jesus Air, Holier Than Thou.

​Still determined to undermine democracy in order to stay out of prison, the Caucasian-in-Chief is said to be considering the imposition of martial law throughout the US at the urging of recently pardoned traitor general Michael Flynn.
 
No one even knows what this martial law would look like, but its point would be to “redo” the election in the swing states Trump lost, and confidently expect a different result, which, I guess you could, if you conducted it at bayonet point.
 
The cooperation of the military, from the Joint Chiefs of Staff on down, would be uncertain in this venture, so Trump’s buds might have to start deputizing the Proud Boys to impose martial law for him. Not that they, or their friends the Boogaloos, or various other neo-Nazis and open-carriers wouldn’t love to do this, but they might be spread a little thin trying to impose Trump’s will on Philadelphia, Detroit and Milwaukee at the same time.
 
Not that Trump has many arrows left in his quiver, after the Supreme Court dismissed his latest attempt to win the election in court with one sentence that was the legal equivalent of John Cleese saying, “I fart in your general direction.” He’s got Giuliani, because nobody else wants him, and he’s got that ex-cop in Texas who got arrested for holding an air-conditioning contractor at gunpoint because he suspected the AC  guy was hauling stolen votes. Turns out that it’s fairly easy to tell an air-conditioning unit from a voting machine, especially if you expect that voting machine to keep your living room cool during a hot Texas afternoon, and the ex-cop was schooled on the difference before he was let out on bail.
 
In short, Trump still needs to be convinced that, after a year of impeachment and plague, and four years of taking his dick out and randomly waving it over the salad bar of American democracy, a sizable majority of Americans just don’t want him to be President anymore. Nobody flipped any votes, nobody hauled truckloads of fake ballots out of secret warehouses, no Venezuelan manipulators of voting machines altered the outcome, and Hugo Chavez stayed strategically dead the whole time.
 
Nobody may actually be able to do this-Trump may go to his grave thinking he won the election. That won’t keep me from dancing on it, and by that time all you Trumpies out there will have forgotten all about martial law.
 
Or “Marshall Law,” as you like to call it.