Let's take just one prime example though, simply because it's one you can also use on the idiots in your life that also spout this nonsense: About midway into the "interview," Trump whines his usual plaint about the Mueller investigation, why aren't they going after Hitlery and her eeeeeeemails?
So here's the deal, and it would have been a key spot for Brennan to push back just a little on this lying sack of orange lying shit, who was lying: You're the fucking president, dipshit. You can go talk to your Attorney General, any time you want, and ask him to appoint another special prosecutor to go check out all that email stuff. You can do it tomorrow. You could have done it a year ago, or two years ago.
So the real question is not why don't they investigate her emails, the question is why you don't appoint someone to do that. Because, you know, you can do that. That useless tube-steak "acting" as the Attorney General has probably sprayed quarts of man-chowder around his office fantasizing about that very conversation. So what the fuck are you waiting for, numbnuts?
Naturally, Margaret Brennan doesn't ask that question, or really much of anything else, because either she doesn't know what her job is, or I don't know what her job is. Growing up on Lincoln Steffens and Upton Sinclair and Hunter Thompson and that ilk, I always felt that the reporter's role was to ask questions and dig, to find facts and make the right people uncomfortable. Clearly the job is now merely to let the elites talk to each other, while convincing enough of the peons to stick around to buy pharmaceuticals and adult diapers and cell phone plans and fast food. Because that's all Margaret Brennan did this morning, was sit through the lies of a vile bastard, in the hopes that her audience would find her sufficiently deferential, and then listen to the messages from the sponsors.
A new documentary about Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill -- but really about what journalism used to be in this country -- premiered on HBO the other day, and it will have you weeping on the inside at the very least, for what has not just been lost, but given away. These guys were larger-than-life characters who also happened to be damned good writers, probing and incisive and scornful where it counted. There really aren't any left of that breed anymore, or at least they're a severely endangered species.
Breslin especially had Trump's fucking number, him and that father of his, way back in the Eighties, when that ridiculous cocksucker kept getting free publicity simply because he returned their calls and gave them the bullshit narrative he knew they were looking for. Breslin was a working-class dog every day of his life, who made mistakes and owned them, who drank with the boyos in the corner taverns, and heard their stories. Margaret Brennan is a milf who makes a lot of money and wants to keep her job.
Then again, would it matter if Brennan had challenged him and pushed back on some or all of his lies? (For the record, it would matter, but it would not have any tangible effect.) Everyone's entrenched, everyone's holding their positions. Their paychecks depend on it.
In the meantime, the little Eichmanns that really move the machine along keep rolling in the background. The comms minions lie through their rotten teeth, knowing they'll land somewhere after the clown car finally explodes. The alcoholic pill-pusher who is currently under investigation has been re-appointed as Trump's personal physician, just in time for the annual physical. Since no honest medical practitioner would sign off on this fat fuck's clogged arteries and terminal psychosis, it comes down to the good ol' Candyman to come back and save the day.
That's the heart of the scam -- while we're all in a constant state of alarm and distraction and impotent sputtering virtual outrage at the daily antics of Grampa Walnuts, the rich get richer and the minions betray their country every day. And the base loves it, still. It doesn't matter what Mueller proves or how conclusively anymore -- he's taken too long, in the sense that if it was a true national emergency, it should have been dropped more imminently, by its very nature. So they won't believe it, and they were never going to anyway.
You only have a couple options with the base, anyway: write them off (most likely and logical); convert them (good luck with that); or come at the vulnerable niches in that demographic, and give them the you gonna believe him or your lyin' eyes argument.
Take the hurricane- and flood-damaged communities in North Carolina in the link in the previous paragraph. Can a Democratic candidate go to those areas, talk to the residents, and point at the damage, and ask the obvious questions? What is Trump, or your senator or representative, for that matter, doing to help with any of this? Why is it taking years to get you back to where you were in 2016, and why aren't any preparations being proposed, much less made? Are you getting what you asked for when you voted for those people; if not, then why would you keep voting for them?
You want to talk about jobs and economic security, there ya go. No companies that can pay a decent wage will move to an area that gets blown out and flooded every fucking year -- in fact, the ones that are there will start figuring out how to get the hell out of there. We'll see how much you love them librul snowflake tears when your life consists of endless cycles of preparation, flooding, and cleanup.
But it's an uphill struggle, and this is in no small part due to the corporate mediocracy's many shortcomings and institutional corruptions. They know better, and some of them even complain about it, but nothing ever gets done, none of them ever do anything to make it better. Right now they're all a-flutter about Virginia Governor Ralph Northam, because we only hold Democrats responsible for the stupid shit they did thirty-five years ago.
Fact: if Northam switched parties, he'd be on the Supreme Court, or in the fucking US Senate. That fucking dingbat from Mississippi posed in traitor slaver regalia just a couple years ago. Steve King still spouts white supremacist rhetoric. Addison "Bitch" McConnell, possibly the most powerful person in the US government, and arguably the closest thing this country has to a full-on flat-out traitor, famously posed in front of a traitor slaver flag practically large enough to use as a fumigation tent on a house.
But Ralph Northam is the problem, and so he'll get nagged out of office by the nattering ninnies of his own party. Just like Al Franken. How's that moral high ground workin' out fer y'all, anyway? Yeah. Not one leading Dummycrat has the fucking stones to step up and say, You know what? Your orange overlord was fined by the federal government back in the 1970s for housing discrimination. Take your blackface complaints and shove them up your fat asses, sideways. Gutless motherfuckers, all of them.
I don't give a fuck anymore if irrefutable video comes up with Northam pulling a full Al Jolson, saying the n-word over and over again. Because you know what? FUCK THESE PEOPLE. THEY ARE TROLLING YOU. STOP FALLING FOR IT. Jesus Christ, there's one of these stupid "culture war" things every goddamned week, and no one learns a fucking thing from any of them.
The media is Lucy Van Pelt. The non-issue is the football. You are Charlie Fucking Brown. Is the picture clarifying yet, at all?
And now we're all watching the worst Super Bowl in recent memory, taking place in a state whose gubernatorial election, less than three months ago, was the most corrupt since the Daley machine days in Fifties Chicago. Stolen in broad daylight, right in front of all of us. Remember a few years ago when North Carolina enacted its trans bathroom ban, and corporate 'murka got fuckin' woke? Yeah, those were the days. No boycotts this time, boss, there's money to be made.
The point -- and yes, I do have one -- is that we're all complicit now, just to varying degrees. Some have gone around the bend, and maybe they'll come back, maybe not. But even those of us who still value facts and truth and accuracy and all those high-falutin' concepts are still in this, in one way or the other. We may not be driving the getaway car or supplying the guns for the bank heist, but we're standing around in the middle of the action, just waiting for it to be over, just hoping not to get hit. There are no heroes in this.
Silence and cowardice are still complicity, even if to a lesser degree. We have to pay attention, and use our ballots and our wallets accordingly. We're all worn out, but that's what they count on, and the work is necessary, and will never end. If this human centipede of an administration ever does finally get what's coming to it, look for the corporate media to instantly adopt a stance of "reconciliation," which would be a huge mistake. If we don't find a way to crush the Republicon Party, after all this, to completely grind them into dust and ash, we are done.
We might be done anyway, you know; despite the smarmy responses to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez's global-warming alarmism, she's right. If we don't start doing something soon, we're definitely fucked, like within the next decade. Right now we're just probably fucked. My daughter is about to turn eighteen, about to graduate high school, get out into that awesome world the boomers fucked the rest of us out of. I'm telling her to get that college degree as soon as possible, move north and learn to speak Canadian. I really don't know if that'll be enough, though.
But what fucked means specifically should concern even the masters of the universe. The population centers, especially those on the east coast, are in imminent danger; Miami has been scrambling for several years already, and Florida seems intent on going down as quickly as possible, electing full-on denialists even as the panhandle struggles to cleanup from the last round. They won't get it until they get hit hard, and then it's too late, because then it's not just poor people, it's economic damage. It's money.
And that's the only thing that's important to them anyway.