The last time the President told the press to ask my lawyer, Michael Cohen was subsequently fitted for a numbered orange jumpsuit. Well, Rudy, I think your right profile is your best side and black and white stripes say GQ federal prison. You remember in 2018 aboard Airforce One when the President, with obvious guilt dripping from his drooping cheeks, said, “you’ll have to ask Michael Cohen.”
Donald Trump has a couple of obvious tells when he is going to lie; I know what you are thinking, his whole life must be one continuous tell. The telltale precursor he uses at his rallies is when he starts a sentence with, “they came to me and said, sir…” He does it with a dramatic flair, he straightens his back, purses his lips, and mimics what he feels is an official voice. His disdain for people he feels are smarter than he shows at those points. His second obvious telltale sign is that he adopts a blank stare, his cheeks droop, and he barely opens his mouth to answer. Today his Michael Cohen became Rudy Giuliani.
In response to his personal lawyer’s association with two Ukrainian men, Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman, who were arrested and charged with campaign finance violations, Mr. Trump started the engine on the prison bus, “you’ll have to ask Rudy Giuliani.” I am peripherally frightened by one thing Donald Trump does remorselessly, his ability to heartlessly sink his friends to the bottom of his morals less ocean.
He claims to have hardly known Paul Manafort, Michael Flynn who…, George Papadopoulos—the coffee boy, and now Rudy, “I haven't spoken to Rudy,” Trump told reporters. “He has been my attorney.” I used the word frightened, not because I am scared or surprised by Mr. Trump’s disloyalty but because it has manifested into a possibility I have held my breath over since the day he took office, hundreds of thousands of lives potentially ending because of his uninformed decisions. The Kurds in Syria and Turkey are being pulled from their cars and shot along roadsides, homes are being bombed and children, clinging to the hems of their mother’s garments, are running for their lives.
The response to this opening of borders for thuggish incursion by Putin’s Russia, Al-Assad’s Syria, and Erdogan’s Turkey is, Turkey’s offensive against U.S.-allied Kurdish forces in northern Syria is “they have a problem at the border, it’s not our border,” said Mr. Trump. As is his nature, the President is trying to cover his soiled tracks with statements like they [Kurds] are “no angels” and America, “paid a lot of money.”
The people skulking around White House corridors, like Devin Nunes, and golfers on the taxpayer's dole—weekend after weekend, like Lindsey Graham had better wear a combat helmet and flak jacket for the Trump incoming. One step over the Sycophantic Demilitarized Zone and here comes the MOAT, mother of all tweets. America has been put in a position of reacting to life’s seriousness like a teen in high school. Politicians fearing a moody, disloyal, petulant, name-calling man child, who spends too much time working his twitter finger rather than his brain.
Vote in 2020 for Change.