Capitol Crimes
I’m just a plainspoken Colorado criminal defense lawyer, but the way I see it…
He didn’t kill somebody on Fifth Avenue in New York, and he didn’t kill just one.
Donald Trump killed six people on First Street in Washington, and many in the Republican Congress, once they stopped pissing their pants and came out of hiding from the wildling thugs Trump sent to kill them, don’t care.
They don’t have the guts to care, because they fear Donald Trump more than they fear the God they pretend to worship. They don’t have the guts to care, any more than they care about the criminally negligent homicide Trump committed in killing hundreds of thousands of Americans to protect his failed bid for a second term as America’s worst president.
Never mind Trump stood at the Ellipse on 6 January and urged an angry mob to march to the Capitol and take back a stolen election.
Never mind he said “and I’ll be there with you.” (He wasn’t, of course: bone spurs.)
Never mind he said you’ll never take back our country with weakness, you have to be strong, you have to “fight like hell” to force the Congress to throw out the election. “Fight like hell” wasn’t a call to debate; it was a call to decapitate our democracy.
Never mind he was delighted to hear chants of “hang Mike Pence” or that people wanted to put a bullet through Nancy Pelosi’s head.
Never mind that he spent more than a year building the Big Lie that the only way he could lose is if the election was rigged, and when he did lose goaded the mob to take it back by force.
Nearly a year and a half before, Donald Trump stood on another patch of grass, the White House South Lawn, and said, “I’m a very honest guy.”
Honest? Honest?
Trump told thirty thousand five hundred seventy-three lies as President of the United States. His lie that the election was stolen — a lie he used to incite carnage in the capital, six dead, nearly one hundred forty cops injured, one losing an eye, one impaled with a metal fence stake, several with brain injuries, others with crushed spinal discs or cracked ribs — was only his biggest.
In our mythology the first American president could never bring himself to tell even a single lie; the sixteenth’s Christian name is always preceded by “Honest.”
Donald Trump was the Anti-George, the Anti-Abe.
Maybe, the Anti-Christ.