Tell Tale Heart
Trump finally tweeted about Republican Justin Amash calling for impeachment. He called him a loser.
It is the beating of his hideous heart!
Those who have actually read the Mueller Report are pounding the drums of impeachment ever more ever more……
Tell tale. Tell tale. TELL TALE!
Justice is closing in on Trump. Like a caged animal, he lashes out, trying everything he has ever tried before to keep the light out of his evil eye.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work!
Republicans lie awake in their beds, running scenarios over and over in their minds of how they can get out of this, driving themselves mad. They’re hearing things. What was that? Nothing! Just the beat of the fetal heart.
The old man sprang up in bed, crying out — “Who’s there?”
Trump lays in bed at night, watching TV. Tweeting. Tweeting. Tweeting. Telling the same lies over and over and over and over — to Twitter, to himself. Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! WHAT WAS THAT? The FBI? An assassin? Melania?
And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? — now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
Everybody wrapped up in the Trump madness lies awake at night wondering how they sold their souls to the devil. When did they become so heartless?
Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am.
The tax returns. They’re coming for them. They’re coming!
Almighty God! — no, no! They heard! — they suspected! — they knew!
Top cop Bill Barr is sure that he hid the body well. And if he didn’t, what are they going to do? He’s the top cop.
I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.
Trump is yelling on Twitter — the media is the ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE!
I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men — but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder!
Trump can’t sleep. He’s hearing things. Tweet! Tweet! What was that?
Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound — much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath — and yet the officers heard it not.
Heartbeat bills are a heartbeat away from insanity. Beat them. Beat them. Beat them. Beat them. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. BOOM!
It grew louder — louder — louder!
The kids who were all shot in school had heartbeats.
Kids in foster care have heartbeats.
Migrant children have heartbeats. There are 1712 more children who have been taken from their parents, on top of the 3,000 that we already know about.
Heartless bastards.
Never more.
For a copy of the Mueller Report, click here.
For a list of attorneys giving legal analysis about the imploding Trump presidency on Twitter, click here.
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