"If you're coming after me, I'm coming after you!" Donald Trump, last Friday.
This terrifying threat, issued by the Tangerine Drama Queen himself, has all of us shaking in our flip-flops out here in Libtard Land. Should we be constantly looking over our shoulders, fearing for a glimpse of his enraged orange visage, or at least wary of hearing the rumble of the mighty wheels of the Golf Cart of Vengeance?
Being "come after" by Trump seems like an idle threat to the most insouciant of us. How can an obese 77-year-old, a man who looks like running a hundred feet would give him a brain aneurysm, catch up to us comparatively fleet-footed Democrats? The answer is, of course, that Trump himself does not have to chase us down. His army of supporters, men armed with automatic weapons and powerful trucks flying anywhere from ten to fifteen Trump and "Don't Tread on Me" flags, depending on bed size, are standing by, waiting for his command to blast away at our treacherous bodies or run our pitiful Priuses off the highway.
These men, people with birth names like Lew, or Booney, or Cled, are willing to leave their loved ones and their catfish ponds behind to respond to the clarion of Trump's voice, echoing over hill and holler, commanding them to save real 'Murica' from Marxists, transgender athletes competing in any sport from track to pickleball to cornhole, pregnant immigrants and little old lady Democrats harvesting ballots.
Except maybe not. The specter of the last citizen army Trump tried to raise sitting in DC jails, awaiting long prison sentences, deprived of all human companionship besides Marjorie Taylor Greene's, is causing a drop in numbers of MAGA's willing to physically fight for Trump. That's the speculation, anyway. But when Trump calls, and people who bought hats and flags and yard signs from him sigh and say, "Love to be out there with my gun and pepper spray for our real President, but my catfish look hungry and my old lady took the keys to my truck away," who is going to come after Jack Smith and the rest of us?
Trump has even begged the Supreme Court to "intercede" for him. Nobody knows what that means, but, rest assured, it's nothing Brett Kavanaugh is going to put down his beer to do.
So, who will come after Trump's enemies? Possibly nobody. Lock him up.
This terrifying threat, issued by the Tangerine Drama Queen himself, has all of us shaking in our flip-flops out here in Libtard Land. Should we be constantly looking over our shoulders, fearing for a glimpse of his enraged orange visage, or at least wary of hearing the rumble of the mighty wheels of the Golf Cart of Vengeance?
Being "come after" by Trump seems like an idle threat to the most insouciant of us. How can an obese 77-year-old, a man who looks like running a hundred feet would give him a brain aneurysm, catch up to us comparatively fleet-footed Democrats? The answer is, of course, that Trump himself does not have to chase us down. His army of supporters, men armed with automatic weapons and powerful trucks flying anywhere from ten to fifteen Trump and "Don't Tread on Me" flags, depending on bed size, are standing by, waiting for his command to blast away at our treacherous bodies or run our pitiful Priuses off the highway.
These men, people with birth names like Lew, or Booney, or Cled, are willing to leave their loved ones and their catfish ponds behind to respond to the clarion of Trump's voice, echoing over hill and holler, commanding them to save real 'Murica' from Marxists, transgender athletes competing in any sport from track to pickleball to cornhole, pregnant immigrants and little old lady Democrats harvesting ballots.
Except maybe not. The specter of the last citizen army Trump tried to raise sitting in DC jails, awaiting long prison sentences, deprived of all human companionship besides Marjorie Taylor Greene's, is causing a drop in numbers of MAGA's willing to physically fight for Trump. That's the speculation, anyway. But when Trump calls, and people who bought hats and flags and yard signs from him sigh and say, "Love to be out there with my gun and pepper spray for our real President, but my catfish look hungry and my old lady took the keys to my truck away," who is going to come after Jack Smith and the rest of us?
Trump has even begged the Supreme Court to "intercede" for him. Nobody knows what that means, but, rest assured, it's nothing Brett Kavanaugh is going to put down his beer to do.
So, who will come after Trump's enemies? Possibly nobody. Lock him up.
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