Bless his heart, he’s almost enough to make me regret walking away from cable years ago all by himself.
We have news for you, breaking news, that for whatever reason is being downplayed or ignored by other media outlets, but we think you want to know about it. Five simple words describe it, there was no Russian collusion. There is no evidence whatsoever that the Trump campaign conspired in any way with the government of Vladimir Putin during the last presidential election.
That is apparently the conclusion of the bipartisan Senate Intelligence Committee. That Committee spent two years investigating this question. Of course, hundreds of interviews, reams of classified documents, untold millions in taxpayer dollars. No collusion at all. That is what we are hearing on Tuesday evening that they have found.
In the end, it was all fake. And they knew that, they knew it wasn’t real. They were lying from the very first day. Only their remarkable aggression, their willingness to say literally anything no matter how outrageous or slanderous or vile, kept the rest of us from catching on to what they were doing.
If the chairman of the House Intelligence Committee is willing to call someone a traitor to this country, there’s gotta be some truth to it, right?
Actually, no, there wasn’t. It was always a hoax.
Adam Schiff is an unscrupulous charlatan — that is the real lesson here. Don’t expect people like Schiff to apologize though or correct the record, much less repair the lives of the people they have destroyed.
Carter Page still can’t find a job. Roger Stone is still facing life in prison. Meanwhile, Schiff’s PR team on the other channel continues like none of this ever happened.
Suddenly I’m reminded of the vicious Tweet about Covington Kid Nick Sandmann from some liberal asshole, asking “Have you ever seen a more punchable face than this kid’s?” Any list of punchable faces would have to feature this conniving twerp near the very top:
I mean, come ON, people. What right-thinking, red-blooded American could fail to feel the overpowering urge to knock such an obvious pussyfart’s teeth right down his throat upon the mere sight of such a smarmy, prissy, Church-Ladyish mug as that? This face is the living, breathing archetype for every privileged, pompous, stuffy, sneaky, cringing, spoiled-brat, punk-ass, cry-baby, mama’s-boy pissant anybody ever knew in high school.
And let’s face it, we all knew the breed. He’s the towel-boy who found himself up-ended and stripped of both clothes and dignity in the locker room after the game, bare-assed and humiliated while the players snapped wet towels at him, gave him Indian Rope Burns and Purple Nurples, and poured Absorbine Jr on his tiny, shriveled nuts. He’s the Official Hall Monitor tattling to the vice-principal on the thugs and heads for sneaking a smoke in the john or being out of class without a pass. He’s the whiny turd who spies and squeals on the other kids, then wriggles with delight at the pats on the head he’ll receive as a reward from Authority for his nosy treachery.
He’ll play the same role for all his contemptible life, too. To put it in the terminology of my own high school days: he’s not smart enough to mix with the Grinds; he’s too sissified and weak to fit in with the Jocks; he’s too timid about breaking the Rules to hang with the Heads. The girls are creeped out by him, the guys make fun of him, their parents distrust him. Even many of the teachers find him off-putting and contemptible, recognizing his suck-uppery for what it really is. Petty partisan maneuvering aside, it’s not hard to see a private motivation behind this lowly rumpswab’s current anti-Trump jihad: it’s a form of revenge for the torments he suffered under the hated Jocks and Cool Kids earlier in his life—a way for a mealymouthed mediocrity to finally settle some old scores.
Even now Schiff should probably feel fortunate indeed that he doesn’t suffer a minimum of three brutal ass-whuppings a day—every day, seven days a week—just on appearance alone. And that’s leaving his piss-poor character, his self-righteousness, his bone-deep Deep-Stater arrogance, his delusions of grandeur, and etc out of the matter. His wife, if he has one (don’t know, don’t care) is probably shocked and alarmed from time to time by a sudden, inexplicable, and unprovoked impulse to slap his ass silly for no apparent reason at all. Throw in his seditious encouragement of the now-seemingly-busted Mueller coup attempt and we’re getting past a mere poke in the snoot and way into gibbet and long-drop territory.
Tucker’s rant goes on from there; he takes the ever-lovin’ piss out of the pustule Schiff (“Schiff’s grandkids will be ashamed of what he did”) among others, and it’s all great. Go read it, you’ll love it.