Post-indictment open thread: The derailment of the Trump Train

Oh, what a tangled web.

A man of no accomplishments which have benefited the world, a man steeped in crime, a man without an iota of humanity, somehow won the presidency. It was unexpected. And he responded the way he always responds to gifts of good fortune: he plotted how to extract a financial and power windfall from it.

The problem was this: he walked into an office which was not one of his mobbed-up real estate deals. There were rules. There were laws. There were expectations.

Now, all three existed in his previous career. But he could massage that and come out on top. The law is pliable for a man with a certain amount of money.

However, rules, laws, and expectations are the foundations of our Republic. You cannot traduce them and expect to get away scot-free. Not to the degree which he did, and continues to do.

He often spoke of the Trump Train, as did his followers. This unstoppable locomotive to pure power. However, the train is derailed, on its side, smoking. The structure our flawed Founders built shuddered and quaked, but it has withstood the ongoing test. This person is now facing four indictments for his efforts to gain power and keep it beyond his legally mandated tenure. There's no burying his opponents with frivolous lawsuits. There's no waiting until they die or run out of money. This is the government. It has patience. It has resources. And, unlike him, it has time. It has all the things which usually favor him. He is on the receiving end of what he usually doles out.

When Donald Trump won the presidency, he was the dog who finally caught the car. And ever since then the car has been pulling away, tearing him apart bit by bit. But like the dog, he could never let go of it. He could never release and save himself. The car was his precious victory, and he would hold onto it for all he was worth. It was his. It was his by right. And he will have it, whatever the cost.

With almost anyone else, this would be a tragedy. Richard Nixon's case was the fall of a respected man from great heights. But with Donald Trump? He never met the height of the position into which he stumbled. He never grew into the presidency. Far from a tragedy, this is a farce by Moliere. A small, venal man, rising far above his natural condition, and being brought back to earth and lower for his presumption.

Good night, Donald. Hell awaits you.

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