I must be honest with all of you: I have not watched a minute of the impeachment-palooza live. As part of my painstakingly developed and richly rewarding philosophy of “life is too short to focus on petty Schiff,” I’ve devoted most of the last two weeks to my usual stuff: being a world-class husband and father, making the world a better place, taking long, meditative walks with Cassie the Wonder Dog. That kind of thing.
But I have watched some nightly excerpts from the hearings, and I have to admit that – in small doses – it was pretty entertaining. But also, pretty sobering. Because these people are the elected representatives of a great nation, yet these hearings were one bearded lady short of a freakshow. And not in a good way.
Not since a gallant young Joey Gaffes faced off against the dreaded gang bangers Bran Flake, Corn Pop and Sugar Smack has a fight been so over-promoted, and ended up being so lopsided. On one side, there were Adam “Mr. Mackey” Schiff (mmmkay?), a cavalcade of witnesses to nothing, and the entire MSM. On the other side, there were Jim Jeffords and a handful of competent GOP questioners.
It was as if Mike Tyson in his prime got into the ring with Stephen Hawking in his prime. Only if instead of being a genius trapped in a wheelchair and suffering from a terrible disease, the guy in the wheelchair had been a hateful moron. And you can guess which side was Mike Tyson just by counting the number of times a GOP questioner asked the simple question, “Can you identify a single impeachable crime that you know that Trump committed?” only to receive the answer, “No.”
Ouch. If you look up the meaning of the phrase, “If it were a fight, they would’ve stopped it,” in the dictionary, you’d find a reference to these hearings.
It’s difficult to isolate the worst aspect of the hearings, but no list would be complete without the dim-witted, bug-eyed Ring Master, Adam Schiff.
Like most of you, I tend to associate Adam Schiff with the number 2. Sure, the familiar Number 2 pencil reference is obvious. But perhaps the more relevant connection is between the “evidence” that Schiff came in with and the kind of number 2 that Nancy Pelosi’s voting base has coated the sidewalks of San Francisco with. Because Schiff really had nothing.
A low point might have been reached when Schiff looked straight into the camera and insisted that he does not know the identity of the whistleblower/leaker. Everyone in Washington knows the identity of the whistleblower, and everyone in the country knows that Schiff knows the identity of the whistleblower. Not since Bill Clinton pointed his bony finger at the camera and angrily insisted that he had not had sexual relations with that woman have I seen someone lie so blatantly, and so unconvincingly.
Another low-light came when someone named Holmes was testifying. (I don’t know who he is, except that his first name is most definitely NOT Sherlock.) He had some sweet second-hand gossip about conversations that some guys had about Trump’s Ukraine phone call. He said that one of the other guys was – and I quote — “nodding knowingly, as though he’d been briefed on it,” and went on to say that all of the nodding gave Holmes the “clear impression” that everyone obviously thought that Trump was quidding and pro-ing, with a heavy does of quo-ing in there too.
That is really part of the official transcript now: nod interpretation, and the consequent impressions given by such portentous nodding. That’s considered “evidence” in an effort to impeach an American president.
Would I be out of order to suggest that sometimes people mis-interpret non-verbal signals from other people?
In fact, despite my well-known reputation as an astute observer of humanity in all its forms, even I have mis-read a signal or two in my time. For example, at a party in high school I was convinced that a young woman was winking at me in a seductive manner, though it tragically turned out that she just had something in her eye. And a boyfriend who outweighed me by 35 pounds. I was also quite convinced that a different young lady had a crush on me, only to find out later that she was in fact a lesbian, who thought of me as a brother. (When I asked her whether she meant the kind of ruggedly handsome brother who might be the rare guy who could turn her from her lesbian ways with his potent combination of charm and sex appeal, I was not pleased by her answer.)
On the other hand, I was once certain that yet another young woman I fancied did not care for me at all, until she approached me at a party and slapped my behind while whispering something in my ear that would have made me blush, were I not a worldly, man-about-town sophisticated type. Because this was years before I’d been enlightened by the #metoo movement, and therefore didn’t realize that I’d been the victim of a traumatizing sexual assault, I responded by immediately leaving the party with her. On the way out, I held the door open for her, and returned the gesture. Because I am a gentleman.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Anti-Sherlock is sure that Trump is a traitor, because one time this one guy winked, and nodded, and tapped the side of his nose while raising his eyebrow. So, treason, I guess?
While some of the specific moments were entertaining, there is no getting around the monumental absurdity at the center of this impeachment process: The Dems’ original intention had been to weaken Trump politically – and maybe get rid of him completely — by layering all kinds of sinister interpretations onto Trump’s executive-privilege-protected phone call with the Ukrainian president. Then Trump wrong-footed them by releasing a transcript of the call.
Any intelligent partisan hacks would have then folded up their tent and gone on to the next pseudo-scandal. But not these geniuses. They forged – and I do mean “forged” — ahead, and after months of laying the groundwork, they started impeachment hearings in which many witnesses argued for many hours about interpretations of that sinister phone call. A phone call that – I know that I don’t need to remind you, because you don’t have a Biden-esque attention span – WE ALREADY HAVE THE TRANSCRIPT OF! OH! OOHHHH!
Sorry about that. I forgot that I had my Sam Kinison filter turned on.
It really was amazing to watch. It was as if I drove up to some buddies in a new vehicle, got out, and they immediately began arguing:
Buddy 1: I think Martin’s new car is a sweet Lexus.
Buddy 2: I’m pretty sure that it’s a Chevy Volt.
Buddy 1: No way. I heard that it has 4 doors!
Buddy 2: My impression is that it’s a 2-door.
Me: Guys, it’s right behind you. Just look at it. It’s a Ford F-150.
Buddy 1: I heard from a guy who’s dating the best friend of a secretary at the dealership that Martin’s car is a midnight blue Japanese luxury sedan.
Buddy 2: I asked a guy in the hallway if it was a white Chevy Volt, and he pointed his finger at me like it was a gun, which gave me the clear impression that it is.
Me: Guys, turn around. It’s a red F-150.
Buddy 1: I know my cars, and sources of mine have been to the Lexus plant in Tennessee, so I know my Lexuses.
Buddy 2: You may know Lexuses, but do you know anything about Chevy Volts? Because to the best of my recollection, that’s what Martin’s car is.
And then, because in my hypothetical example Sam Kinison is still alive, and staying at my house for some reason, he jumps off of my porch, slams my two friends’ heads together, and screams, “IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU, YOU IDIOTS! JUST TURN AROUND AND LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT!!! OH, OHHHH!!”
And, scene.
It just went on and on. Sondland was supposed to be the star witness — after earlier “star” witnesses turned out to be “homeless schizophrenics mumbling to themselves about how their ex-wives are possessed by demons” witnesses – and he was forced to reveal maybe the most damning detail in the whole debacle. He was asked, “What did Trump actually say he wanted?” He had to admit that Trump said, “I want nothing. I want no quid pro quo.”
Again, in a sane world, the only reasonable response to that would have been, “Good night folks. We apologize for putting you through all of this, but you can all go home now. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.”
But in a world with a Democrat-controlled House, what followed was 6 hours of speculation that what Trump REALLY meant by “no quid pro quo” was actually “yes, give me that quid pro quo.”
How did the MSM cover this giant nothing-burger, served on a zero-bun, with a side of zilch fries and garnished with some zip-lettuce? (Also, I’d like nada for the drink. And hold the substance.)
They went out of their minds, and began spitting out breathless military metaphors and Armageddon-level hysteria. Everything was a “bombshell” or an “IED” or a “devastating attack.” The testimony was explosive, the president’s defenses are crumbling, his supporters are abandoning ship, our constitution is being sexually assaulted, and today was a turning point and a tipping point, and the beginning of the end. Schiff was galloping down Pennsylvania on a pale horse, and death was riding with him!! DEATH, we tells ya!!
Over THIS. Over repeated rounds of, “Do you know of any crime the president committed?” “No.” Over speculative interpretations of third-hand innuendo from anonymous sources who everybody knows are partisan hacks.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I didn’t vote for Trump in the primaries, and he’s far from my dream candidate. But compared to THIS motley collection of stooges, hacks and partisan hatchet men, Trump is looking better and better.
To summarize, the smartest leftist comment of the entire week came from Eric Swallwell, and that didn’t come from his mouth.
Avenatti/Swallwell 2020!
Martin Simpson 