The Lost Prairie Chronicles #15 – How I Met Your Mother

I was between ships back then, and I was a bit tired of sailing anyway. I joined the service at 17 after the service I went to work for MSTS, American President Lines, Lykes Brothers Lines and Standard Oil Company. I’d been all over the world by that time and I’m going to leave a bunch of holes in my early history. Too long to relate here…… but suffice it to say I was tired of being at sea all the time, so…….. I signed off and went ashore to find a job to occupy my time. By this time I was around 32 years old. Maybe 33,.. can’t remember.

Having left home at 17 I had signed on my first ship, so I’ve never had a problem with just jumping into something new feet first.

I was on the west coast and I picked up a newspaper to look at the job section. I saw an ad that captured my imagination, and it was in an area of expertise of which I had no clue. “Exotic Bird and Reptile Shop Manager wanted” Yup. All I had to do was become knowledgeable in both areas within 5 days. (oh boy) I had called and made an appointment with the owner for the following Wednesday morning. This was Friday morning, so I headed for the library and checked out 4 books. Three on Pscittacene types, nomenclature, diets, breeding habits in captivity, health maintenance and one on reptiles and their diseases.

(Short jump to the following Wednesday) I was a copious reader back then and I had actually absorbed the basics on commonly available pet store Parrots, Macaws, Parakeets, Canarys and finches along with a number of Lizards including Monitors, Geckos and commonly available snakes.

The secret to managing that kind of an interview is to guide the conversation yourself, injecting facts and statements about the pets I could see upon entering the shop. Make hard, fast statements about diets, basic Pscittacene breeding habits, maintenance of terrariums and anything else you can recall. NEVER make the mistake of putting forth things of which you have no knowledge whatsoever because the owner just might know that subject matter.

In my case the owner knew far less that I would have imagined, and to my utter amazement, I got the job!!

Long section short……… I continued my reading in the evenings and got a lot of practical knowledge from the 3 lady employees who did maintain all of the animals. Only one of them was suspicious as she handled the reptiles, but within two months she was a believer and a fan. (It pays to read and be a reasonable, friendly manager)

I knew the in-house pet groomer had run an ad for an all-breed grooming assitant because I had approved the ad, but promptly forgot about it. Then came………. the DAY!

I heard the groomer talking to someone outside my office door and she told the applicant to wait outside until she could talk to me and make time for an interview. The groomer liked her, and I stuck my head around the corner to see who she was talking about and there…….. swaying down the aisle away from me, was the most incredible derierre I’d ever seen in my life! Holy camoles!! Chauvenist though it may sound, I knew it was going to be very difficult not to hire her! And………… I didn’t not hire her. And her name was Lyn………….. Rosemary, Latigo and Amanda’s future Mother.


Mom at 17, just before she met Dad.
Still 17 and………
  

A few months went by before I asked her to accompany me to a local contest. Beautiful Salukis, Borzois, Afghans, Greyhounds and a few other pertinent breeds were “coursing”….. chasing an artificial rabbit through a pulley rigged course, and we were on our first date.

Lyn appeared to be awfully young, so I had looked at her employment profile. The solitary time I’ve ever known Lyn to fabricate anything at all was on that document. She had graduated high school very early and had assumed that at her true age she’d not be hired…… and she was right.

I felt strange dating a 20something year old at my age, but it was just a date, but that date turned into more dates, and still more dates until…… I fell in love with your Ma.

Lyn’s parents are old country people, Great Britian, to be exact, and I recognized there was a protocol. I opted to speak to her father as her mother’s accent was not always easy for me to understand, that and her being nearly 6′ tall and an overpowering presence, so I made an appointment to speak to him asking his daughter’s hand in marriage.

He asked a few cursory questions and, to my utter amazement, he agreed! I had thought that a 30something asking for the hand of a 20something would be out of the question for them.

Things were put in motion, and it appeared there was a clear road ahead, until………. I received a letter from the county explaining that we had to attend three marriage counseling sessions before a license could be issued. Huh?!?! I responded with “I don’t think so. I’m free and 21 so you can forget that, lady.” The response…….. “Congratulations on being free and 21. Your intended, however, is not!”

A quick phone call to the county verified that Lyn was in fact 17 years old!! I went immediately to her parents, telling them that “You must be nuts!! Allowing a 30something year old to marry your 17 year old daughter??”

Her father assured me that they had already had me “checked out” and felt I would take excellent care of their daughter. Hoo, doggies!! Now what?

Lyn and I discussed it and I told her there was no way we were getting married that month. She had to take more time to think about this, and her parents needed more time to consider it…….. so we waited. I don’t remember how many months it was, but eventually it became apparent that this was indeed going to happen…. and it did.

The most difficult time for me was the first few years. I was determined not to turn this little girl into something I wanted her to be, and at that age it wouldn’t have been too hard. With my careful attention to avoid forming her opinions or swaying her values, Lyn became the largely self-educated, strong willed pillar of the St.Marie Family that she is to this day. 37 years ago she was a barely 95 pound bundle of excitement, facing the world and an unkown future with me. Today she’s a glowing grandmother who’s world revolves around her children, little Julian Ricochet St. Marie and Scarlett Lyn…….. A whole new generation.

——————————————————————————————————————

This is Ma with her Grandchildren, my Son Julian Ricochet and Rosemary’s Daughter, Scarlett lyn.

The Lost Prairie Chronicles #14 – Galiceno

It was one of those elusive years the date which, once again, escapes me. I remember it was spring and we had the logs delivered for the house we’d call home for the next generation.

We were living in the small log home we’d had built when pennies were hard to come by, and though it was a three bedroom, it was only 950 square feet on two levels.

Our first residence was another two miles down the valley, that being an old farmhouse with a barn and root-cellar, but it was home at the time. After having the first log home built we had bought a huge load of logs from Bob Monk, a cattle rancher who had logged the trees from his own land, peeled, channeled and stored them in a huge building used to house his tractors and haying equipment.

These logs were to be used to build a log home for his son some 5 years later.

The logs were cross-stacked in tiers on the concrete floor for proper curing. Unfortunately, his son died in an automobile accident the year before the scheduled house-raising. They sat forgotten in that building for another three years until I mentioned to Bob that we would be building a new log home when the finances allowed, but that would be some time down the road as logs weren’t particularly cheap even back then.

Bob surprised us when he said we could buy the logs he had stored for his son’s home if we’d get them out of the building within a few weeks. Recently they had become an unpleasant reminder since spending a lot of time working on a harvester in that building. We bought them for less than half of their actual value.

I hired a logging truck with a self-contained loader to make the two or three trips from the Monk ranch to our place with the understanding they’d be dropped at the chosen building site. I paid the driver $300, shook his hand and headed for town. When I got back to Lost Prairie I was astounded to see that the logs had been offloaded not 40 feet from our house! A full two hundred yards away from the new building site. Great…………… How was I going to get all those logs moved up to the building site? I called the trucker and he explained that he’d had one of his crew show up in a pickup, telling him that his wife was about to deliver her baby and he had given him a quick explanation as to our whereabouts and headed for town. His truck had already left for Hamilton Montana for a logging contract and I was just out of luck.

Well, we didn’t have the finances to do much about construction anyway so we just tarped that huge pile of logs and walked away wondering how the heck we’d get them moved. I didn’t have another $300 for just moving them again.

The following week I was at the auction looking for an new pony for Rosemary. She wasn’t happy with the strong willed little knot-head she’d been riding, so it was off to the auction where I saw an unusual little horse, sturdy and solid looking. I asked the owner if she was fit for a little girl to ride and he told me………”Waaal….. mebbe…… mebbe not. Ain’t no kid never rode him, but I reckon he’d stand it.” Huh? He’s a pony isn’t he? “Nope. Not rightly, but I reckon he’d be rode.”

I was getting exasperated as he seemed to be dodging the question, and I asked him …What the heck good is he? He’s a pony, isn’t he? “Not quite” he said. “He’s more of a small horse”. What possible difference could that make?? “He’s a Galiceno…….. and actually he’s a logging horse”. A logging horse?? Look at his size! How could he possibly be a logging horse?

“Waaal…. ya hook him up to a singletree, put the choke-chain around the end of a log, drop the chain and lead him to the drop-off. After that you git one feller to stay at the pickup and one feller to stay at the drop-off. He’ll go back and forth all day long, but I reckon a kid could ride him.” 10 huge light bulbs go off over my head all at once!! The house logs! Is it possible??

Yep. Rosemary was ecstatic with his appearance and disposition and that little horse worked like a dream. We hooked a singletree to his harness, hooked the chain around a log using a Peavey to roll it onto the chain, dropped the chain and led him to the drop-off point. Lyn

stayed with the logs, made the hookup and the little critter threw his weight into that harness and dragged a log up to where I was standing. I unhooked the log, hung the chain on the tine of his horse-collar and back he trotted to Lyn!

Thus was the beginning of the huge log house that has been home to the St. Maries for all these years. And Rosemary?…….. She loved him……… and the story of this little Galiceno didn’t end there…….. but, that’s for next time.

The Lost Prairie Chronicles #13 – Spitfire

She was an exuberant new-born, but from the day she was placed into that Walker…… she earned her Nom de Guerre ….. Spitfire.

Sitting in the easy chair reading a book, I could hear the squeak-squeak of the little wheels as she scuttled across the hardwood floor on her way to the forbidden world of the Coffee Table. The Coffee Table….. a place where all things of mystery were kept. Glass candy bowl, magazines, nail clippers, coffee mug, pencils and all the stuff you hurriedly put away when you’re expecting visitors, and an enticing, potential playground for little fingers protruding as far beyond the walker as the bumper would allow.

Reaching for a pencil she’d hear a loud “No!” followed by a quick retraction of the little hand. Sitting back in the walker she’d look at me with a noncommittal gaze….. slowly reach again….. “NO!!” and a quick retraction. This time there was a slight protruding of the lower lip. She’d half turn in the walker and lean over the opposite direction looking down at the floor. Back to my book.

A quiet squeaking of the wheels and I lowered my book just enough to see her reach once again, but this time for the nail clippers. “Rosemary! No!”

I’m convinced that there is a mechanical link between a quickly retracted hand and the lower lip. The hand is quickly withdrawn while an opposite, invisibly linked force pushes the lower lip out.

With a leisurely push of both feet at once she withdraws out of my line of vision……. and back to my book, but I soon hear the squeaks in tiny increments as she returns. Glancing off to my left I can see her reflection in the window. She’s easing toward the coffee table and watching intently for any downward movement of the book.

This time she simply reaches out for anything within her grasp but keeps her eyes on my book for any movement. Yanking the book down…… “Rosemary K St.Marie!!” Hand retracts, lip shoots out, tears well in her eyes as she throws herself backwards into the walker in utter despair… sobbing… real tears running, I pick her up and hold her close. She drops her arms at her sides, refusing to acknowledge the hug, head against my chest sobbing and getting me good and wet.

“Don’t cry, Pooh. Daddy loves you, but you can’t play with those sharp things.” She raises her head and looks at me with huge, tear filled eyes and finally hugs me. 

This scenario played itself out over days and weeks until she was actually walking by herself. At that point the house looked like we were expecting company every hour of the day and night because Miss Pooh was everywhere and into everything non-stop, daybreak till dusk. In the spring and summer you couldn’t find her in the house. The barnyard was her world, and her world revolved around the stock tank, Barbie Dolls, My Little Ponys and the real Mccoy………… Horses.
Rosemary on one of her supposed “Ponies”

The Lost Prairie Chronicles #12 – A Love Affair

The middle of January is always cold in Lost Prairie, and at 5am and 5 degrees this particular morning was no exception. Lyn Bundled up, pulled on her gloves, wrapped her scarf around her neck up to her eyes and trudged to the barn through the deep, newfallen snow.

It wasn’t much warmer in the barn, but the audible lowing of recognition warmed her heart. Posie was a gorgeous mix of Brown Swiss and Jersey, and her huge, soft eyes watched Lyn close the door, pick up her five gallon bucket, her milking stool and approach her. She shifted, bobbing her head as Lyn gently stroked her muzzle. Posie belonged to Lyn as much as Lyn belonged to Posie. Filling the crib with fresh alfalfa, Lyn added a gallon can of honey oats to the hay and received a gentle nudge from Posie for her trouble.

Placing her stool, she removed her scarf and leaned into Posie, resting her cheek against the warm hide. Little puff clouds appeared as Lyn softly breathed into the icy air of the Barn.

This was a labour of love, and both seemed to know it. Posie gave Lyn an easy five gallons of milk a day, thus supplying the wide spread neighbors with milk.

Spring and summer found Posie out in the pasture mixed in with the horses. She brooked no foolishness from the horses and responded immediately to Lyn’s call morning and evening. Winters were spent mostly in the barn or barnyard sometimes standing stock still in the rare patch of winter sun. Snow drove her into the barn, unlike the horses that visited the barn only for their morning grain in the stalls. The horses in Lost Prairie seldom used the barn in even the most inclement weather preferring the sanctuary of the dense Jackpines to being indoors. During certain parts of the winter when it was the coldest it was not uncommon to see them in the Jackpines with a quarter of an inch of ice covering their backs, withers and flanks, walking carefully so as not to crack the ice, frosty moustaches on the hairs of their lips and eyelashes. That layer of ice actually provided an insulation. Yes, Posie did love Lyn and it was reciprocal. Then came that spring when Lyn required surgery.

She subsequently spent five days in the hospital after her surgery and when I drove her to town it crossed my mind…….. “What about Posie?” Don’t worry. She’ll be just fine with you. So I gave it no further thought that morning.

That evening I saw Posie enter the barn as was usual. Bucket, stool, alfalfa, grain,….. I was all set, but Posie wasn’t. She chewed her alfalfa and swung her head to the rear, peering at me and wondering what I thought I was doing. No Lyn….. no milk.

And so it went for the first three days. By that time I began to worry about the possibility of mastitis, but Posie wasn’t interested in me or my worries. It was going to be Lyn or nothing.

On the fourth day she gave me almost a gallon, but it was grudging and I could tell she was extremely uncomfortable. On the fifth day, a half gallon and so it went for another two days. At this point even Lyn was getting very concerned, but she was due to be released the next day.

Coming home that morning was an experience I’ll not forget. I had just turned up the drive from the county road, Lyn leaned out of the window and hollered “Posie!!” From across the pasture, up came Posie’s head, a loud bellow of recognition and there she came on the high-run through the horse herd, scattering them in all directions, distended bag swinging left and right losing huge squirts of milk with every swing!

I jumped out of the truck, ran to the barn, grabbed the stool and bucket just beating Posie back to where Lyn was standing. Gentle shoving, mooing and jostling Lyn around had me momentarily concerned, but a moment later Lyn had her cheek against Posie’s side and was milking a river from her.

The rapport between the two of them is something I’ll keep in my fondest memories for as long as I live.
Mom’s old Milkcow Posie

Autopsy of a Dead Coup

American Greatness | February 17th, 2019 | Victor Davis Hanson

President Trump
 
“The illegal effort to destroy the 2016 Trump campaign by Hillary Clinton campaign’s use of funds to create, disseminate among court media, and then salt among high Obama administration officials, a fabricated, opposition smear dossier failed.

So has the second special prosecutor phase of the coup to abort the Trump presidency failed. There are many elements to what in time likely will become recognized as the greatest scandal in American political history, marking the first occasion in which U.S. government bureaucrats sought to overturn an election and to remove a sitting U.S. president.

Preparing the Battlefield
No palace coup can take place without the perception of popular anger at a president.

The deep state is by nature cowardly. It does not move unless it feels it can disguise its subterranean efforts or that, if revealed, those efforts will be seen as popular and necessary—as expressed in tell-all book titles such as fired FBI Directors James Comey’s Higher Loyalty or in disgraced Deputy FBI Director Andrew McCabe’s psychodramatic The Threat.

In candidate and President Trump’s case that prepping of the battlefield translated into a coordinated effort among the media, political progressives and celebrities to so demonize Trump that his imminent removal likely would appear a relief to the people. Anything was justified that led to that end.

All through the 2016 campaign and during the first two years of the Trump presidency the media’s treatment, according to liberal adjudicators of press coverage, ran about 90 percent negative toward Trump—a landmark bias that continues today.

Journalists themselves consulted with the Clinton campaign to coordinate attacks. From the Wikileaks trove, journalistic grandees such as John Harwood, Mark Leibovich, Dana Milbank, and Glenn Thrush often communicated (and even post factum were unapologetic about doing so) with John Podesta’s staff to construct various anti-Trump themes and have the Clinton campaign review or even audit them in advance.

Some contract “journalists” apparently were paid directly by Fusion GPS—created by former reporters Glen Simpson of the Wall Street Journal and Susan Schmidt of the Washington Post—to spread lurid stories from the dossier. Others more refined like Christiane Amanpour and James Rutenberg had argued for a new journalistic ethos that partisan coverage was certainly justified in the age of Trump, given his assumed existential threat to The Truth. Or as Rutenberg put it in 2016: “If you view a Trump presidency as something that’s potentially dangerous, then your reporting is going to reflect that. You would move closer than you’ve ever been to being oppositional. That’s uncomfortable and uncharted territory for every mainstream, non-opinion journalist I’ve ever known, and by normal standards, untenable. But the question that everyone is grappling with is: Do normal standards apply? And if they don’t, what should take their place?”

I suppose Rutenberg never considered that half the country might have considered the Hillary Clinton presidency “potentially dangerous,” and yet did not expect the evening news, in 90 percent of its coverage, to reflect such suspicions.

The Democratic National Committee’s appendages often helped to massage CNN news coverage—such as Donna Brazile’s primary debate tip-off to the Clinton campaign or CNN’s consultation with the DNC about forming talking points for a scheduled Trump interview.

So-called “bombshell,” “watershed,” “turning-point,” and “walls closing in” fake news aired in 24-hour news bulletin cycles. The media went from fabrications about Trump’s supposed removal of the bust of Martin Luther King, Jr. from the Oval Office, to the mythologies in the Steele dossier, to lies about the Trump Tower meeting, to assurances that Michael Cohen would testify to Trump’s suborning perjury, and on and on.

CNN soon proved that it is no longer a news organization at all—as reporters like Gloria Borger, Chris Cuomo, Eric Lichtblau, Manu Raju, Brian Rokus, Jake Tapper, Jeff Zeleny, and teams such as Jim Sciutto, Carl Bernstein, and Marshall Cohen as well as Thomas Frank, and Lex Harris all trafficked in false rumors and unproven gossip detrimental to Trump, while hosts and guest hosts such as Reza Aslan, the late Anthony Bourdain, and Anderson Cooper stooped to obscenity and grossness to attack Trump.

Both politicos and celebrities tried to drive Trump’s numbers down to facilitate some sort of popular ratification for his removal. Hollywood and the coastal corridor punditry exhausted public expressions of assassinating or injuring the president, as the likes of Jim Carrey, Johnny Depp, Robert de Niro, Peter Fonda, Kathy Griffin, Madonna, Snoop Dogg, and a host of others vied rhetorically to slice apart, shoot, beat up, cage, behead, and blow up the president.

Left wing social media and mainstream journalism spread sensational lies about supposed maniacal Trump supporters in MAGA hats. They constructed fantasies that veritable white racists were now liberated to run amuck insulting and beating up people of color as they taunted the poor and victimized minorities with vicious Trump sloganeering—even as the Covington farce and now the even more embarrassing Jussie Smollett charade evaporated without apologies from the media and progressive merchants of such hate.

At the same time, liberal attorneys, foundations, Democratic politicians, and progressive activists variously sued to overturn the election on false charges of rigged voting machines. They sought to subvert the Electoral College. They introduced articles of impeachment. They sued to remove Trump under the Emoluments Clause. They attempted to invoke the 25th Amendment. And they even resurrected the ossified Logan Act—before focusing on the appointment of a special counsel to discredit the Trump presidency. Waiting for the 2020 election was seen as too quaint.

Weaponizing the Deep State
During the 2016 election, the Obama Department of Justice warped the Clinton email scandal investigation, from Bill Clinton’s secret meeting on an airport tarmac with Attorney General Loretta Lynch, to unethical immunity given to the unveracious Clinton aides Huma Abedin and Cheryl Mills, to James Comey’s convoluted predetermined treatment of “likely winner” Clinton, and to DOJ’s Bruce Ohr’s flagrant conflict of interests in relation to Fusion GPS.

About a dozen FBI and DOJ grandees have now resigned, retired, been fired, or reassigned for unethical and likely illegal behavior—and yet have not faced criminal indictments. The reputation of the FBI as venerable agency is all but wrecked. Its administrators variously have libeled the Trump voters, expressed hatred for Trump, talked of “insurance policies” in ending the Trump candidacy, and inserted informants into the Trump campaign.

The former Obama directors of the CIA and National Intelligence, with security clearances intact, hit the television airways as paid “consultants” and almost daily accused the sitting president of Russian collusion and treason—without cross-examination or notice that both previously had lied under oath to Congress (and did so without subsequent legal exposure), and both were likely knee-deep in the dissemination of the Steele dossier among Obama administration officials.

John Brennan’s CIA likely helped to spread the Fusion GPS dossier among elected and administrative state officials. Some in the NSC in massive and unprecedented fashion requested the unmasking of surveilled names of Trump subordinates, and then illegally leaked them to the press.

The FISA courts, fairly or not, are now mostly discredited, given they either were willingly or naively hoodwinked by FBI and DOJ officials who submitted as chief evidence for surveillance on American citizens, an unverified dossier—without disclosure that the bought campaign hit-piece was paid for by Hillary Clinton, authored by a discredited has-been British agent, relied on murky purchased Russian sources, and used in circular fashion to seed news accounts of supposed Trump misbehavior.

The Mueller Investigation
The Crown Jewel in the coup was the appointment of special counsel Robert Muller to discover supposed 2016 Trump-Russian election collusion. Never has any special investigation been so ill-starred from its conception.

Mueller’s appointment was a result of his own friend James Comey’s bitter stunt of releasing secret, confidential and even classified memos of presidential conversations. Acting DOJ Attorney Rod Rosenstein appointed a former colleague Mueller—although as a veteran himself of the Clinton email scandal investigations and the FISA fraudulent writ requests, Rosenstein was far more conflicted than was the recused Attorney General Jeff Sessions.

Mueller then packed his investigative team with lots of Clinton donors and partisans, some of whom had legally represented Clinton subordinates and even the Clinton Foundation or voiced support for anti-Trump movements.

Mueller himself and Andrew Weissmann have had a long record of investigatory and prosecutorial overreach that had on occasion resulted in government liability and court mandated federal restitution. In such polarized times, neither should have involved in such an investigation. Two subordinate FBI investigators were caught earlier on conducting an affair over their FBI-issued cell phones, and during the election cycle they slurred the object of their subsequent investigation, ridiculed Trump voters, and bragged that Trump would never be elected. Mueller later staggered, and then hid for weeks the reasons for, their respective firings.

The team soon discovered there was no Trump-Russian 2016 election collusion—and yet went ahead to leverage Trump campaign subordinates on process crimes in hopes of finding some culpability in Trump’s past 50-year business, legal, and tax records. The point was not to find who colluded with whom (if it had been, then Hillary Clinton would be now indicted for illegally hiring with campaign funds a foreign national to buy foreign fabrications to discredit her opponent), but to find the proper mechanism to destroy the presumed guilty Donald Trump.

The Mueller probe has now failed in that gambit of proving “collusion” (as even progressive investigative reporters and some FBI investigators had predicted), but succeeded brilliantly in two ways.

The “counterintelligence” investigation subverted two years of the Trump presidency by constant leaks that Trump soon would be indicted, jailed, disgraced, or impeached. As a result, Trump’s stellar economic and foreign policy record would never earn fifty percent of public support.

Second, Mueller’s preemptive attacks offered an effective offensive defense for the likely felonious behavior of John Brennan, James Clapper, James Comey, Andrew McCabe, Bruce Ohr, Peter Strzok, and a host of others. While the Mueller lawyers threatened to destroy the lives of bit players like Jerome Corsi, George Papadopoulos, and Roger Stone, they de facto provided exemption to a host of the Washington hierarchy who had lied under oath, obstructed justice, illegally leaked to the press, unmasked and leaked names of surveilled Americans, and misled federal courts under the guise of a “higher loyalty” to the cause of destroying Donald J. Trump.

The Palace Coup
All of the above came to a head with the firing of the chronic leaker FBI Director James Comey (who would lie to the president about his not being a target of an FBI investigation, lie to House investigatory committees by pleading amnesia and ignorance on 245 occasions, and repeatedly lie to his own FBI bureaucrats).

In May 2017, acting FBI director Andrew McCabe took over from the fired Comey. His candidate wife recently had been a recipient of huge Clinton-related campaign PAC donations shortly before he began investigating the Clinton email scandal. McCabe would soon be cited by the Inspector General for lying to federal investigators on numerous occasions—cynically stooping even to lie to his own New York FBI subordinates to invest scarce resources to hunt for their own nonexistent leaks as a mechanism for disguising his own quite real and illegal leaking.

The newly promoted McCabe apparently felt that it was his moment to become famous for taking out a now President Trump. Thus, he assembled a FBI and DOJ cadre to open a counterintelligence investigation of the sitting president on no other grounds but the fumes of an evaporating Clinton opposition dossier and perceived anger among the FBI that their director had just been fired. In addition, apparently now posing as Andrew McCabe, MD, he informally head counted how many of Trump’s own cabinet members could be convinced by McCabe’s own apparent medical expertise to help remove the president on grounds of physical and mental incapacity under the 25th Amendment. This was an attempted, albeit pathetic, coup against an elected president and the first really in the history of the United States.

At one point, McCabe claims that the acting Attorney General of the United States Rod Rosenstein volunteered to wear a wire to entrap his boss President Trump—in the manner of Trump’s own attorney Michael Cohen’s entrapment of Trump, in the manner of James Comey taking entrapment notes on confidential Trump one-on-one meetings and leaking them to the press, and in the manner of the Department of Justice surveilling Trump subordinates through FISA and other court authorizations.

McCabe was iconic of an utterly corrupt FBI Washington hierarchy, which we now know from the behavior of its disgraced and departed leadership. They posed as patriotic scouts, but in reality proved themselves arrogant, smug, and incompetent. They harbored such a sense of superiority that they were convinced they could act outside the law in reifying an “insurance policy” that would end the Trump presidency.

The thinking of the conspirators initially had been predicated on three assumptions thematic during this three-year long government effort to destroy Trump:

One, during 2016, Hillary Clinton would certainly win the election and FBI and DOJ unethical and illegal behavior would be forgotten if not rewarded, given the Clintons’ own signature transgressions and proven indifference to the law;

Two, Trump was so controversial and the fabricated dossier was so vile and salacious, that seeded rumors of Trump’s faked perversity gave them de facto exemptions to do whatever they damned pleased;

Three, Trump’s low polls, his controversial reset of American policy, and the general contempt in which he was held by the bipartisan coastal elite, celebrities, and the deep state, meant that even illegal means to continue the campaign-era effort to destroy Trump and now abort his presidency were felt to be moral and heroic acts without legal consequences, and the media would see the conspirators as heroes.

In sum, the Left and the administrative state, in concert with the media, after failing to stop the Trump campaign, regrouped. They ginned up a media-induced public hysteria, with the residue of the Hillary Clinton campaign’s illegal opposition research, and manipulated it to put in place a special counsel, stocked with partisans.

Then, not thugs in sunglasses and epaulettes, not oligarchs in private jets, not shaggy would-be Marxists, but sanctimonious arrogant bureaucrats in suits and ties used their government agencies to seek to overturn the 2016 election, abort a presidency, and subvert the U.S. Constitution. And they did all that and more on the premise that they were our moral superiors and had uniquely divine rights to destroy a presidency that they loathed.

Shame on all these failed conspirators and their abettors, and may these immoral people finally earn a long deserved legal and moral reckoning.”

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Photo Credit: Jamel Toppin | Forbes