“Balls deep in scumfuckery!” they chorused, in their sweet girlish voices. Then they sold me cookies.
The latest star in the nation’s battle with loathsomeness is Lev Parnas, a Ukrainian-born American who’s blabbing to anyone who will listen about the chores he’s done on behalf of Rudy Giuliani in Parnas's native land. Parnas, who appeared on national TV with a hairstyle reminiscent of a Dairy Queen swirly cone, is yacking like someone who fears he will commit suicide next week. He claims that everyone in the entire Trump mob was in on pressuring Ukraine to announce an investigation into Joe Biden.
Parnas is not the most credible of witnesses, except that he has the texts and photos, evidence that proves Trumpish figures found him irresistible, despite a history of debt and fraud, probably because he had a bank account they could use to funnel Russian money into a Trump Super Pac, which resulted in his unfortunate recent indictment. They found him even more delightful when they discovered he spoke Ukrainian and could be relied on to personally convey blackmail notices to the old, and then the new, Ukrainian government, to push an investigation that would benefit Trump next election. Of course, the US employed people who spoke Ukrainian already—they work for the State Department—but Trump & Company preferred Parnas.
Parnas, in turn, found Robert Hyde, with whom he exchanged texts concerning stalking and maybe even killing one of those people who spoke Ukrainian on behalf of the State Department, who happened to be the US ambassador to that woebegone country at the time. Hyde, who apparently has a history of mental problems, alcoholism and being a Republican, may have hatched this whole plot out of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Probably, though, there should be more than three degrees of separation between an unbalanced, murderous drunk and the office of the Presidency. Just sayin.’
Of course, none of this will have consequences for Trump in terms of booting him from office in his impeachment trial, because he has been gifted with a Republican Senate whose members would, if he commanded it, engage in public perineum sunning on the steps of the Capitol while shouting his praise. Some of them would even print “Not” on their right pasty thigh and “Guilty” on the left one voluntarily while they did so. We’re looking at you, Lindsey Graham.
And we’re looking at Lev. Quick, someone get him a book deal, before he kills himself.