He Who Laughs Last


Like the man who greeted Justice Felix Frankfurter with great relish, Aardvark looks forward eagerly to receiving his very own Kindle version of Fire and Fury, now scheduled to emerge from the ether onto our screens at 9 AM, Eastern Standard Time, mañana. With luck the publisher will outrun any temporary restraining order that Trump’s shysters may seek.

This evening the talking heads are saying that Bannon is in deep doodoo, with his financial backers bailing, his crazy candidates all pledging undying fealty to the Dear Orange Leader, and his tenure at Breitbart in jeopardy.

I am sure that all of these talking heads know more than I do, and they may be right. But logic tells me otherwise. I think our postliterate Dear Orange Leader is going down.

And on the day when the men in the white coats come for the Dear Orange Leader, Steve Bannon is going to look like a fucking genius—at least by comparison with the tribe of Trump worshipping lickspittles running the adult day care center on Pennsylvania Avenue.