What a pair of capitulating slime dogs.
Tillis and Cornyn looked as if they had seen a ghost at the Senate confirmation hearing this morning. Their faces carried that pale, hollow expression of men who had already been shown the consequences of disobedience. Did Trump tie them to an old radiator in some seedy hotel room and whip them with his thong? Did he make them sit through the night listening to stories about his golf scores while the radiator hissed and the wallpaper peeled?
Whatever happened, it worked. They caved!
Sickening.
Both men knew exactly what had been placed before them. They knew the papers were the work of a man with no soul, no character, and no apparent concern about life after death. That much was predetermined the moment he became one of Trump’s side-hustling political offspring, another obedient creature sent into the world to defend the indefensible and invoice the country for the trouble.
Todd Blanche will one day have a plaster replica of his face displayed on legal cartoon sites, a permanent warning to young people entering the profession. They will study that face and learn that there are two roads available to them: You can do it the right way, or you can do it the Blanche way. One road may be harder and less profitable. The other comes with television appearances, moral rage, and a reserved seat beneath Trump’s grave site.
If this had been you or me, the drubbing delivered by that fart-breathing Diaper Don would have been the last straw. We would have gathered what remained of our dignity, opened the nearest door, and kept walking until the smell disappeared.
Not these two.
These two “cave men” emerged from the beating, eager to surrender whatever Trump had neglected to take the first time. Just the scent of his socks seemed to intoxicate them. They bent before him like dying blades of grass in a typhoon—limp, frightened, and grateful that the storm had noticed them at all.
Tillis and Cornyn know better. That is what makes their performance so revolting. Ignorance might offer a threadbare excuse, but neither man can claim it. They understood the documents, recognized the fingerprints, and knew the purpose behind the entire production. Still, they lowered their heads, swallowed what remained of their judgment, and gave the machinery another push.
A blue wave is building, and it is real.
Blanche knows it. Tillis knows it. Cornyn knows it. So does the entire horde of grifting Republican House and Senate members who can hear the water moving beneath the floorboards. They know the tide is coming, and they know what may be carried away when it arrives.
That is why, between now and November, it will be pedal to the metal.
Steal what can be stolen. Lie about what cannot be hidden. Cheat where the rules still have meaning. Soil every institution that might one day hold them accountable. Stain themselves beyond recognition, like Trump returning from his latest journey to the outhouse, his tie dragging behind him, with someone else assigned to clean the floor.
They are not governing. They are looting the building before the sheriff reaches the porch.
And the cave men, pale from their encounter with the ghost, are holding the door open.
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