Sour grapes? Sign me up for a bunch or two.

We waited, and we waited, and we waited.

And in a sense we were the man who quits his job BEFORE the lottery numbers are drawn, then complains about bad luck.

People make their own luck. And Donald Trump is an expert at it.

Remember "Crooked Hillary?" Of course you do. It's hard to hear her name anymore without attaching the Trumpian adjective. We know that her political expediency is no worse than that of others of her ilk, but Trump kept saying it and we kept hearing it.

The same with Mexican rapists and murderers, Muslim extremists, immigrant caravans—we hear it, sometimes we laugh at the inanity because the president is a dope, but now here we are with no choice but admitting that "no collusion" wasn't as humorous as we thought.


Yesterday those lottery numbers were drawn and, what do you know, we didn't win! Now we're stunned and shocked and wandering around like extras on The Walking Dead...which we basically are this morning. Or maybe we have been for a while.

Waiting for that lottery drawing, we let a lot of evil go by, first because of a recalcitrant and craven Republican Congress, then with the Democrats too concerned about some young House member offending someone. "Offending someone" is the hallmark of Trump's job description—how do we not know that?

We let Charlottesville go by, and Helsinki, we watched him put a rapist on the Court and name a crook as Interior Secretary.

We watched him buy women's silence and trade national security information with Russians in the Oval Office and with his conniving daughter at the dinner table. We watched him decimate women's health and health care in general, besmirch the name of American heroes (McCain, Brennan, Humayun Khan), balloon the national deficit, imprison children, feather his own financial nest, wink at the assassination of a journalist and even support the eradication of a free press. We watched him betray our allies for a few pieces of silver and cozy up to our enemies for much the same reason.

All this, while we waited for the lottery numbers...and, what do you know, we didn't win!

The results are not Robert Mueller's fault; and twenty months from now it won't be Robert Mueller who sends Trump packing.


So let's just take a breath.

It isn't over.

The "results" are not the results at all but merely the impressions of one Trump-appointed Attorney General. I expect no further transparency from Bill Barr but I expect the House to raise a ruckus. No collusion? Maybe. But there were lies told about the Trump Tower meeting. If everything was aboveboard, why?

Further, obstruction remains on the table, as do a myriad of money-related offenses, many of them serious. (We have yet to see his tax returns—time to get those.) Trump is damaged goods and eminently damageable. The majority in the House can make things difficult for him.

And listen, sensitive progressive Democrats (of which I remain one): when the Congressional Republicans claim that it's all sour grapes, we'll have to stand up really tall and admit that, yeah, maybe it is, but the president is unfit for office and we're getting him the hell out!

Then—and this is the hard part— while we're standing tall we'll have to grab a bunch of those grapes and eat them —maybe even make believe they taste pretty good.

I'm told they go nicely with crow.


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