Code Name: Mom’s House

Falling through the universe at the speed of life

By David Glenn Cox

Good News! I’m being trolled on Facebook by phantom Reich wing profiles. One who told me, but don’t let this get around, that he worked for a secret agency of the government! An agency that forbids the use of punctuation in all communications. The rules did, however allow him to disclose to me in a public forum, that he worked for this secret agency. You know, we lost some of our best men in Berlin that way! One minute drinking a schnapps in a café on the Potsdamer Platz, bragging about being a secret agent. Next minute…gone!

But first they ignore you Bubba. If I’m getting their attention, I must be doing something right. If I were ever mentioned on Faux News, why it would mean that my career was nearly made! (As hated on Faux News!) One foul word from the lips of Tucker Carlson and we’re going Shelby shopping. Harry Truman said, “try not to mention your opponent by name, don’t give them the free publicity.” Anyway, enough about me. I will take this opportunity to say thank you to everyone. And a special thanks and shout out, to all those who troll in secret government agency basements everywhere, Code Name: Mom’s House.

Back to work, file under; “Some days this shit just writes itself.” As we all know, the President is the Commander and Chief, the highest-ranking military officer in the country.  On his whim, he could take the whole 82nd Airborne on a fun filled adventure  weekend to Disneyworld. But after he leaves office, he can’t take Gomer Pyle to the picture show. It’s a term not specifically mentioned by the framers. Over the years, it has come to be called “Out skis! Vamoose! Gone! And the winner is…not you!  A single elimination tournament, lose and you go home.  

So, the Twumpster has told his four buddies subpoenaed to testify and provide documents to the January 6th committee to ignore the subpoenas, on the grounds of Executive Privilege. (Remember Gomer Pyle?) The President has executive privilege, the ex-president, not so much. Like the towels at the hotel, they remain with the building. “Go on guys, you don’t have to testify! Show em, you aren’t afraid of a little year in prison! Show em, you ain’t afraid of a glutted Twump tell-all book market. You ain’t a scared of a little hundred thousand dollar fine and the ruination of your career, are you?”

Twump attempts witness tampering before the fact. Flailing madly, trying to smother the investigation in its crib. Grasping at the legal straws in the wind, “I don’t have to use the crosswalk; I was crossing guard back in elementary school! Those powers were granted to me by Mrs. Davidson and school district 161 for life, wanna see my badge?” Twump declares executive privilege. But he ain’t got no executive privilege. What he does have is Joe Biden. What Joe allows to fall on Twump will almost certainly be visited on the house of Biden. Joe Biden is the best friend that Twump has in the whole world.

But there is another grander and higher legal standard at play. As the highest-ranking officer in the military, Twump subjects himself to military governance, not near as nice as regular. An officer cannot willfully issue an illegal order. Anyone following an illegal order is subject to severe legal penalties. Anyone refusing to cooperate with an investigation is potentially in deep shit. But like football, sometimes the flag for pass interference, is better than giving up the touchdown.

Yet another round of Twump lackeys is being prepared for the legal meat grinder. “They died for your sins Donald Twump!” Ignoring the subpoena will bring scrutiny and legal headaches. Legal headaches will invariably lead to financial struggles. Financial struggles and legal headaches lead to a new wife and smaller home in a shittier neighborhood. Miles away from the country club, but no matter, you’re not welcome there anymore. But you still have your new friends from the half-way house on weekends!

“Hello and welcome, my name is Michael Cohen. I’ll be your guide here in “Twump Hell!” I’ll be your facilitator, to help you to get all settled in. I can answer all your questions like, “Which do I sell first, the lake house or the cars?” Sell both, the Ex is gonna want half anyway. I was once a successful White House Attorney just like you, and now I wear the ankle bracelet of shame. And this job is a part of my work release program. I once had an art collection and now have only three photos taped above my bunk. You’re only allowed three, and the punishment is severe.

An illegal order remains an illegal order. What happens to those who promote illegal orders remains to be seen! But sadly, as sometimes happens, (Fun Fact) the little guys often get crucified, while the big orange guy gets away clean.(The John Dean Rule.) “But remember, you’re fighting for Donald Twump’s good name and maybe someday the kids will write you back. Maybe someday, you’ll get that good job again. If you can get your law license back, look at me! I’m on CNN, huh? Sure, they’re mad at you now, but there is nothing wrong with community college and taking the bus. Trust me, they all wanted to go to Columbia.”

Twump told the Republicans in Congress, not to go along with raising the debt limit and eleven of them told Twump to pound sand. (The Awakening) Into the valley of death rode the brave four Twump officials. Half a brain, half a brain. Half a brain onward. Will the four put their head on the chopping block and throw their arms out as a signal to the ax man, that they are ready? Or will they try and save themselves, by throwing the big cheese to the wolves?

Either way, they will be hated and despised for the rest of their days by the Twump Eloi. Either way, they will never be able to read the word “Fucked!” spelled out on a three by five index card, without thinking of themselves, and their time in the Twump Administration.

And the secret coded message for the Twump Trolls is: “Mama says, be quiet! When she has her gentleman callers!”

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