Donald Trump has unhinged 2am meltdown
It was late at night — not even a whisper of light could be seen — when the man began his rant. At around 2:00 AM, the words made their way to Truth Social, flowing languidly onto the computer screens like slow-moving poison. The man who posted these words had made a startling confession. He’d hinted that he “crossed the line.”
Allow me to add more context. Donald Trump demanded full immunity even for behavior that “crossed the line.” The darkest confessions usually occur at the darkest hours of the night. “Events that cross the line may fall under total immunity.”
Trump seems to be confessing his sins more and more, yes? And on this night, a night where little light could be seen, either from outside or from within the traitor, Trump, in his own way, admitted that perhaps he’d “crossed the line.” That’s the understatement of the year.
I rarely answer Trump directly. I can name, on one hand, the articles where I have done so. This, however, deserves an answer. It cries out for an answer. I shall give one. Donald, insurrectionist, criminal, and mixed up child of the night, you have no leverage.
Immunity for everything including “crossing the line”, does not exist. You may as well speak of fairy dust and unicorns. You are speaking of something that cannot happen because blanket immunity is not a thing that exists, accept in your most wild fantasies.
But keep talking, Donald . Keep shouting your confessions in the dead of night into the ether, where they swirl before permanently setting up residence on Truth Social, your partner in duplicity.
Don’t you get it yet, Donald? Will you ever get it? There are human lie detectors all around you. They come in the persons of Jack Smith, Fani Willis, and others. Their purpose for being near you is to go over every sentence you utter, every untruth you speak, and grade each one for lies. So far, you are zero for a million as far as honesty goes.
You whisper your truths at a time when most sleep. You can’t sleep because your brain is wired for mayhem. But now you cannot seem to stop confessing. Yes, you have crossed the line. You crossed the Rubicon, Donald, a long time ago, and there is no way to circle back.
Thank you for admitting your sins, at least partially. Crossing the line — such a mild, innocuous way of calling the horrors of what you did wrong.
You can continue to whisper and scream your disgusting truths; you can keep depositing your putrid cargo into the truth social engine. At the end of the day, though, you’re utterly and completely powerless — totally powerless. I think on some level you know it too. And that’s the honest truth.
