I'm a simple woman so maybe I don't understand this but if I were personally ordered by a judge not to tamper with the jury at my trial and then I did it anyway 10 different times and then I told my convicted sex offender coworker to tamper with the jury on my behalf and he did it and then bragged about doing it... I would not still be gallivanting around this side of a jail cell. And neither would my dipshit sex offender coworker.
Someone please explain this for me. Someone explain real slow because I'm fucking livid this gigantic treasonous asshole keep getting away with crimes that are designed to let him get away with the crimes we're trying to convict him of.
@tuban_muzuru they will make a martyr out of him anyway. Whether or not he's convicted of these charges, other charges, contempt charges, sedition charges, or no charges. They will make him into a martyr regardless.
Let's not allow him to also make a mockery of our court system along the way.
Imagine for a moment, this (apparently plausible) scenario.
You are minding your own business driving home from work on the freeway, doing a sedate 65mph when you are passed by an asshole in what looks like a misshapen garbage dumpster doing mach-3 and whirring and buzzing with all the grace of a Spirit Airlines Airbus during mating season.
Without warning, this complete fucking ballbag cuts you off and stomps on his breaks. You watch in horror as one of its rear panels tears itself loose. You now have approximately 0.2 seconds before an 80 pound lump of sharpened sheet metal comes crashing through your windscreen at 70 mph.
Remember: I cannot reply while live-posting, so plz use NFL (Not For Laffy.. no hashtag) so I can skip your replies. THANK YOU.
1/… First, via Lawrence O'Donnell:
J.D. Vance was on the phone the entire time. He wasn’t taking in a word of testimony. Tuberville, to his credit, looking straight ahead, taking it all in as best he can, whatever sense he can make of it
You don't play the piano and you don't know anyone who does. What you do have is money. Lots of it. You are either a doctor or a lawyer by profession. The piano is likely placed in a prominent location in your expansive house, such as tucked under the stairs, where the sound can be muffled, or next to a bay window, where it can echo weirdly off the glass. The lid of your grand piano is always closed. There are photographs of you and your wife and kids arranged tastefully on the top and a soft accent lamp on the left hand side of the music desk which absolutely will not illuminate any part of the music adequately.
This was your mom's piano and it has sentimental value to you. It's out of tune. The sort of out of tune that brings to mind honky tonk old silent movies starring Charlie Chaplin. You always wanted to learn to play piano, and someday you will. Right after tax season ends. Or next tax season. Definitely after the one after that. Your favorite food is something fried, with cheese in it. You have seen every single episode of The Bachelor.
You are weird. Or a music historian. Or both. You practice for hours every single day, you absolute lunatic. You haven't seen the inside of a pub since Covid. You have memorized the Dewey Decimal system.
You bought this piano a decade ago when your kids were taking lessons, but they're grown now, and now nobody uses it unless you force them to. Which, now that you think about it wasn't unlike how it was used when your kids were taking lessons. Sometimes you open the fallboard and tinker around a bit. You can play chopsticks and heart and soul, and a little bit of that one Ed Sheeran song. You got your first letter from the AARP last week. You're beginning to enjoy gardening.
You are in your late twenties. You have two kids, and a third on the way. Your house is a perpetual FEMA disaster site. You found a peanut butter and jelly sandwich under the passenger seat of your minivan yesterday. A whole ass sandwich. Still in the plastic ziplock baggy. You recycle but you wish you didn't. You have a motorcycle in the garage gathering dust and cobwebs. Your 5 year old woke you up at 3AM last night by bringing you the family parakeet. You do not have a family parakeet.
You are trans. Your current favorite genre of music is something that ends in -core or -wave. You are in a polyamorous relationship with a demisexual non-binary person, their live in boyfriend, and his trans sister. You have never owned a vehicle. You own no less than 4 different pairs of Birkenstock sandals. You vote Democrat but only because there isn't a real candidate that's further left.