I watched the insurrection blossom on the ellipse. Listened to lie after lie after lie—voter fraud in Michigan, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Arizona—details of water pipes bursting and suitcases of ballots stolen and thousands of votes cast by the dead—the exact stories debunked by the Attorney General, under oath, that forced him to resign.
I watched the violence, the battle at the Capitol, the spears, the bear spray, the screams of a cop being crushed by a mob, the Camp Auschwitz T-shirt, the Confederate flags; Proud Boys screaming “MAGA, MAGA” and “hang Mike Pence” and “Where’s Nancy?”
I saw the gallows, the broken glass, America’s Kristallnacht. I saw Congress flee for their lives, heard them desperately plea to the president to call off the dogs, end the violence.
The hypnotist watched with pleasure, rebuffed plea after plea after plea. He had never experienced so much love in his name, not from his wives, not from his porn star, not from his generals, and not from his vice president, who he ordered not to certify the election. He lit the fuse in the morning when he told the mob, “When you catch somebody in a fraud you’re allowed to go by very different rules,” and ordered them to fight like hell.
When the violence had gone on for so many hours that staff and family and media sycophants inundated him with requests to end the assault, he went before the cameras, told the lawless they were special, told them he loved them and asked them to go home. The violence ended.
Conceding nothing, skipping the inauguration of the new president, he mounted Marine One and flew to his Florida home.
Capitol police officer, Brian Sicknick, died on January 7th, 2021. I met his brothers; they know the truth of what happened to America that day. 140 law enforcement officers were wounded, four others would later die.
The hypnotist told rally after rally for four years that he won the presidency by a landslide, that the crowd, who marched through the smeared blood of the defenders of freedom to sack the Capitol of the United States, engaged in a “day of love.” And he ran for the presidency again—this time winning, this time promising retribution for each and every narcissistic wounding endured by his failed insurrection.
Although barred by Section 3 of the 14th Amendment to hold any federal office, WE THE PEOPLE are about to hand over the keys to the kingdom, the keys to the nuclear codes, the body of every American woman who will be protected “whether they like it or not.” There is a name for all of this: Domestic Enemy. Abraham Lincoln warned us about it, fought a Civil War to restore unity. My sense of duty, the remnants of a military career against tyranny, compels me to seek enlistment, to join the ranks of those willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for freedom. But the hypnotist has plans to close-shop on every enemy of the people, and look, it’s already happening—the great war is coming and I can’t find a recruiter’s office.
