It’s no secret Trump’s in big legal trouble. I saw somewhere on the Internet that, if you take all the crimes he’s been accused of, and add up the maximum sentences for each, it totals 541 years in prison.
The evidence against him seems strong, as it’s mostly of Trump committing crimes on a recorded line, or videos that he tried to erase but didn’t have minions technically competent enough to do so, or even innocently inquiring if he could get his swimming pool emptied into his servers.
Inevitably, during the course of one or more of his trials, Jack Smith or the Atlanta DA is going to offer a plea bargain, and Trump’s lawyers are bound to listen to it and present it to him.
What kind of a deal would Trump accept? Obviously, one with no prison time. Trump wants to hang out with people like Hannity and Maria Bartiromo, not guys with nicknames like Sweaty Ben, the Redneck Rammer, or other lifer types that have acquired a taste for big butts, especially old and pimply ones.
He’d have to go to a prison big enough to house his Secret Service crew. Boy, would those guys hate to pull that duty, instead of accompanying Biden to party countries like Belgium and Bora Bora.
The Big House for Trump would probably be Mar al Lago, with some modifications. First, a name change for the length of Trump’s sentence. Slammer Por El Mar would be nice. Then, an ankle bracelet. It would have to be the biggest, best ankle monitor ever, so he could brag about it on social media. Maybe one for each ankle, so they wouldn’t knock his golf swing off balance.
Conjugal visits? Does Melania want to have to slap his hand away once a month? Will others be permitted to service the mushroom? I foresee tense, disgustingly intimate legal wrangling before this issue is settled.
Staff? The most important felon in US history can’t be expected to handle the burdens of his office alone. How about an Unindicted Co-Conspirators Wing, just south of the pool shed at el Slammer, where Rudy Giuliani, Roger Stone and random gardeners and valets can try and overturn the results of his criminal convictions. At least they can help him add up the days left in his sentence, by Magic Markering four vertical strokes with one slash on his cell wall for every five days served, the traditional hard-timekeeping method.
Food? Prison food is part of the punishment. He might have to eat Burger King, or even Wendy’s, instead of McDonald’s. The sogginess of his fries, the flatness of his Diet Cokes will only fuel the bitterness of his confinement.
He could still brag on polls showing that at least 50% of Republicans still think that he would be the best choice, if they had to pick a convicted traitor for President.
He could still call into Fox News, but it would have to be collect. And there would be that little recording, telling whoever answered the phone that the caller was incarcerated, and would they accept the charges?
And Rupert Murdoch would have to say yes.
The evidence against him seems strong, as it’s mostly of Trump committing crimes on a recorded line, or videos that he tried to erase but didn’t have minions technically competent enough to do so, or even innocently inquiring if he could get his swimming pool emptied into his servers.
Inevitably, during the course of one or more of his trials, Jack Smith or the Atlanta DA is going to offer a plea bargain, and Trump’s lawyers are bound to listen to it and present it to him.
What kind of a deal would Trump accept? Obviously, one with no prison time. Trump wants to hang out with people like Hannity and Maria Bartiromo, not guys with nicknames like Sweaty Ben, the Redneck Rammer, or other lifer types that have acquired a taste for big butts, especially old and pimply ones.
He’d have to go to a prison big enough to house his Secret Service crew. Boy, would those guys hate to pull that duty, instead of accompanying Biden to party countries like Belgium and Bora Bora.
The Big House for Trump would probably be Mar al Lago, with some modifications. First, a name change for the length of Trump’s sentence. Slammer Por El Mar would be nice. Then, an ankle bracelet. It would have to be the biggest, best ankle monitor ever, so he could brag about it on social media. Maybe one for each ankle, so they wouldn’t knock his golf swing off balance.
Conjugal visits? Does Melania want to have to slap his hand away once a month? Will others be permitted to service the mushroom? I foresee tense, disgustingly intimate legal wrangling before this issue is settled.
Staff? The most important felon in US history can’t be expected to handle the burdens of his office alone. How about an Unindicted Co-Conspirators Wing, just south of the pool shed at el Slammer, where Rudy Giuliani, Roger Stone and random gardeners and valets can try and overturn the results of his criminal convictions. At least they can help him add up the days left in his sentence, by Magic Markering four vertical strokes with one slash on his cell wall for every five days served, the traditional hard-timekeeping method.
Food? Prison food is part of the punishment. He might have to eat Burger King, or even Wendy’s, instead of McDonald’s. The sogginess of his fries, the flatness of his Diet Cokes will only fuel the bitterness of his confinement.
He could still brag on polls showing that at least 50% of Republicans still think that he would be the best choice, if they had to pick a convicted traitor for President.
He could still call into Fox News, but it would have to be collect. And there would be that little recording, telling whoever answered the phone that the caller was incarcerated, and would they accept the charges?
And Rupert Murdoch would have to say yes.
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