I see your concerned face, all doughy jowls and blue eyes on the verge of weeping, like a waterlogged corpse falling apart faster than your credibility. It’s all a big mess, isn’t it? You hitched your humble Southern carriage to the President’s wagon and now everyone has dysentery. It’s hard to keep trundling along when you’re covered in nervous effluence, your knees shaking like a whippet shitting caltrops. Time to steady your nerves, dig deep and pull out your conscience from that back pocket you tucked it in to.

Where did it all go wrong, Lindsey Graham? You were once a Republican with enough political nous to recognise the importance of bipartisanship, a Reaganite capable of critical thought who loudly criticised the dangerous excesses of Trump’s race-baiting election campaign. The thin mirage of principle around you evaporated the moment you were invited on to the golf course. Like Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio and every other spineless shill, the moment Donald had nothing to gain from mocking you he stroked your egos until you rolled over and showed him your balls. He neutered every single one of you, leaving you with nothing but the occasional piss-weak mutter about how disappointed you all are.

In the days since the dam finally broke on impeachment it feels like a few hours can’t go by without another whistleblower flying down the tide on a lilo. Trump is desperately throwing chaff in an attempt to distract and obfuscate, mounting a truly stable genius defence against the crime he’s accused of by confessing to it and then going on national television to commit it again for good measure. By ordering his lackeys to refuse to cooperate he’s sat on the lid of the rusty pressure cooker with only the screaming whistles of every leak keeping him company.

It’ll be under the bus with all of them soon – Giuliani can feel it coming and is visibly ageing every day the Ukraine scandal rumbles on, his self-control unravelling along with his legacy. Somewhere in the attic of his mind there’s a beautiful portrait of the Mayor of 9/11 that still looks glorious but soon even that will be drowned in the quagmire of his own making. As the truth continues to squeak out it looks more and more like anyone not a dyed-in-the-neck Trumpian has always known – that the conspiracy theories and wild accusations are rarely ever more than projection on the part of corrupt scumbags committing the very crimes they accuse the filthy libs of.

It feels like the GOP and even Fox News are quietly preparing to recalibrate, the narrative shifting subtly towards a post-Trump world in which they can shake their heads about how terrible it all was whilst washing their hands of any responsibility for any of it. It is now pretty much beyond doubt that Trump absolutely deserves to go down in history as the first President ever removed through impeachment. Public support for it is skyrocketing compared to even Nixon’s polling at this stage of proceedings. Anyone else would have retired already but humility and self-awareness are the two skill trees Trump never pumped any points in to, opting instead for narcissism and incest every time he levelled up.

That his final undoing may yet come as a result of an attempt to undermine the Democratic candidate already doing the most to undermine himself is an irony Alanis Morisette could eat with a spoon as the final meal before her execution. Sadly, nothing is inevitable at this point, as we are now well and truly through the looking glass in terms of how low the Republican party is willing to sink in order to insulate Trump from the consequences of his corruption.

It takes a major fuck-up for any elephant in the room to stand up and be counted against him. Ask and ye shall receive, Lindsey Graham, for he’s now conveniently served up the cherry of all fuck-ups on his monstrous haemorrhoid trifle of a legacy. The betrayal of the Kurds leaves camps full of ISIS loyalists potentially unguarded, with Erdogan threatening to redirect tens of thousands of refugees to Europe that they can then hide themselves within. It’s one of the most spectacularly stupid strategic moves imaginable, reinvigorating ISIS, all but guaranteeing future terrorism and abandoning an ally to suffer the wrath of a regime who despises them. All for no other reason than Trump’s got buildings in Istanbul and he’s decided it’s a good idea against the advice of anyone with an ounce of common sense around him.

It’s exactly where the GOP’s pathetic obsequiousness to his whims was always heading. Trump’s reality is forever the mercurial ego-wank going on in his head. He’ll always believe he’s 100% correct because no-one in his life or within the Republican ranks, not even his most vocal critics from the campaign trail, has ever had the guts to properly contradict him. Any murmur of dissent or dissatisfaction has simply seen the door revolve again, swapping out one burned-out former loyalist for a fresh one.

What better example of gutless surrender have we got than you, Lindsey Graham? You sold your credibility for a handful of silver without ever bothering to take a thumbnail to the thin gilding to reveal the rust beneath. Now it’s all falling apart and rapidly becoming beyond reproach you’re suddenly willing to raise your thin, tremulous little voice to the heavens.

Are you right, Lindsey Graham? On this occasion, yes. But if you think for one second that by speaking out now history will vindicate you after you bent over backwards to accommodate the myriad betrayals of the would-be Emperor you’re kidding yourself.

I see you, Lindsey Graham, exhausted and filthy at the edge of the swamp. I smell the rot and hear the blowflies buzzing around you, bloated, putrescent things that wobble idly among the dangling tendrils of the trees above. I hear the thick waters bubbling, the wetlands teeming with grotesque contradictions of life, necrotic, stinking things that slither and chirp among the slime and weeds.

I see your hand rise from within your filthy robe, fingers outstretched, what remains of your power pulsing through your veins. I feel the shift in the air and beneath the toxic waters I hear a rumble as the bubbling grows in intensity, some hidden submerged mass trembling but refusing to rise.

You crashed the last remaining X-Wing of the GOP here, Lindsey Graham, sinking it straight into the ever-expanding swamp. Now the whole world stinks and you lack the strength to raise it. I see your hand fall, the tiny rise of the waters collapsing with a sucking sound back into the mud. I hear you begin to weep, a small, pathetic sound of your own making.

I see you look up as a light begins to form on the far bank, a glowing figure coalescing from the thick and putrid air. Your former friend, a spirit now made of light, here to advise you on your path to redemption. Could this be it, Lindsey Graham? Could this be the secret to unlocking your power?

I see the force ghost of John McCain raise both fists, extending both middle figures to salute your demise.

I see you, Lindsey Graham. I fucking see you.

I See You

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