This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

What woah! Like a scene from a  black and white 1950s crime film noir. “Your honor, on the advice of my NEW council, the non-Trump funded one. I would like to shockingly change my testimony! (audience gasps) It came to me suddenly, like a revelation. I did see them do those things you spoke about. And I do happen to remember those exact conversations!”

Oh boy, this is fun, fun, fun! Think of the phone conversations generated by this news. “He did what! When? Oh shit, he fired our attorney and got one from the state? We’re fucked! No, I’ll call him. The ketchup is gonna fly tonight though.”

This bombshell expands out like ripples on a pond, affecting everyone’s testimony. Somebody flipped! A torpedo bearing down on all of them. The state now has a cooperating witness. And maybe, having a free Trump paid attorney isn’t such a good thing after all. Maybe an attorney paid for by the state could be a good thing too?

But this generates a new fear among the conspirators, who else might talk? And the race to the cooperation station starts. Somebody is going to jail here, and somebody is going home. It’s either Jimmy Stewart or Uncle Billy. Last one to the courthouse could do time at Maxwell Federal Prison.  

The seeds of doubt are well planted, trying to remember who was in the room with every lost conversation. Sensing that the walls are somehow closing in. Nobody is to be trusted anymore.  Now the final ingredient, for the stolen documents case, at least. This is game, set, match. With video evidence out the yin yang and a cooperating witness too! Four aces, It just doesn’t get any better than that.

This is a shock to the system that rattles the whole Trump structure and framework. Like going after the mob, you start by taking down the Capos and Lieutenants. Mister Trump reports to the notorious Fulton County Jail on Thursday. I heard the Fulton County jail actually called “notorious!” What jail isn’t notorious? It’s a jail! It’s frequented by the notorious, while in the process of being notorious. It’s like their office, a notorious central. Like seedy bus station, the words go together without saying.

But I’m dying here waiting for “The” mugshot! I’ve noticed from the current crop of mugshots how much smaller John Eastman and the others look. The mice all look much smaller after you catch them. Smaller than that man on that blustery January 6^th stage. All meek and humble now. Death and the mugshot, the great equalizers of humanity.   

Poor Rudy (the Moop) Giuliani. In every picture, Rudy looks a little bit more beat down and stooped. Simon Barr Sinister looking, eventually, it will be just Rudy’s arms and shoes in a pile on the floor with his head on top. Broke, disgraced, embarrassed and drunk by sundown. Rudy can’t find an attorney in Georgia, because there aren’t more than one or two per street corner in Atlanta. But Rudy can’t find an attorney. There are plenty of them out there, just none prepared to pilot the Hindenburg down to Lakehurst.  

He’s Rudioactive now and no one wants to touch him with a ten-foot pole. Rudy is the cosmic comic relief figure here. The Elmer Fudd character who ambles across the stage pretending he knows what he’s doing when everyone can see he doesn’t know what’s going on.

He’s the Charlie Chaplinesque, Dagwood Bumstead, hair dye running down his forehead standing in front of the lawn service place weird guy. Living in a Twilight Zone lost weekend episode where Rudy can’t get out and can’t get back. Back to that other reality where he was once successful.

The good times are over, and this is the sad remainder as the little boat circles the drain yet again.

Mark Meadows tells the court “I’m so innocent, I shouldn’t even be here your honor. I want my case moved to Federal Court. I shouldn’t have to report to a “jail” when I don’t even belong here your honor. This is all a mistake. You see, I was following the President’s explicit orders. Whoops, I mean, I was fulfilling my Federal duties. I was only following orders. You can’t arrest a guy for that!”

Meadows is the fulcrum caught between a Trump and hard time. If Meadows is guilty, then Trump is guilty. Meadows was Trump’s lieutenant acting on Trump’s orders. Eastman was Trump’s attorney as well as Rudy (the Moop) Giuliani. They got these guys by the short hairs and we’re really, really, going there. I hoped we would, but here it comes ready or not. Who is gonna squawk and who is gonna walk? Who else will make a deal and squeal?

Rudy has admitted during previous testimony that he lied about the outcome of the election. Eastman was on the stage cheering the crowd on with Rudy. Meadows has retreated to jurisdiction. No need to argue the facts of the case. Just give me my Federal prison cell with tennis courts a view and stress cards. Where I can live out my declining days dreaming of a Republican pardon. After the public forgets of course.

For Team Trump this week has been a disaster. A cooperating witness willing to refute his previous testimony and instead finger the boss. “Yeah, that’s him man. He’s the one who told me to do all of that illegal stuff. I’m sure, that’s him.”

Testimony that will take down the whole Mar- a- Lago crew lock, stock, and smoking barrel. But as each speaks, so goes the fate of the others. Your loose lips could sink my ships. All caught together in an interrelated web of interlocking crimes.

It means, Cult 45 schmaltz slicker is going to be found guilty and potentially face house arrest inside his Florida mausoleum. They won’t send him to prison, his living life sentence as a victim will be worse. Living as the living dead live, trapped inside of a hell with an angry wife and unable to play outside with the big kids anymore.

“You should have listened to me. I told you that wouldn’t work!” He’s Done and Finished! This is the beginning of the end for Trump. But Trump was right about one thing, I want one of those Trump mugshot tee shirts.

“Who then shall unravel all these subtle combinations? Who shall trace the exact dividing line that marks off one form of extremism from its opposite? It can be done only by a love of country and a love of truth. Kings and knaves will always try to destroy this love, for they shun reason and truth like the plague.― Maximilien de Robespierre