Notes on Writing: What's So Special About Counsels, Anyway?

Would you rather write prose that cut like a knife, or gutted like a fish?

It's a judgment call. I don't have the sharp tongue or piercing insight needed to extract that info from the imaginary reader's brain. All I can do is utilize cutting-edge analysis and slice up the data to pinpoint what I think would be a reasonably sound conclusion on the matter. 

What is so special about counsels, anyway?

It seems like they're handing them out like candy these days. Special counsels to investigate classified document removal. Special counsels to investigate riots and democratic ruin. Special counsels to create the appearance of fairness and placate an unplacatable group of foul tweezer-brain rubes.

Tweezer-brain?

So much of the country's last gasp of hope for actual fairness and justice and sanity and catharsis was already riding on the shoulders of a special counsel with a routine name and supposedly sharp teeth and justice-minded mentality to actually hold a real honest-to-god criminal over the flames and to account for being such a foul and unlawful creature. And that work is ongoing (in theory, anyway). 

But for whatever cowardly reason, the shrieking shrews of Pearl Clutch, Ohio, have to be appeased, despite being totally and 100% completely unappeasable. "It's not fair" and "we are the victims" says the redhatters and the ruling class wanna-be tyrants pulling their strings, and the goddamned DOJ is more than ready and willing to supplicate and meet every ear-piercing grievance with "I'm so sorry, sir. Here's an investigation for you, too."

Dammit. 

Yes, documents were found in Biden's vice-presidential museum or boudoir or whatever. And yes, some of them may have been unceremoniously red-stamped classified at some point long ago. But the sheer bulk of documents comes nowhere close to what Captain SprayTan had stowed away in the catacombs of his ugly god-forsaken golf shack, ostensibly to be sold on eBay as collectibles or to foreign emissaries to lock in another real estate branding contract and coast until his fat fucking ass could be cryogenically frozen and thawed out 10, 20, 50 years down the road. 

But the documents were discovered and returned to the authorities by the guy's own attorneys. The whole situation is odd, I'll wholeheartedly admit, and it's terrible optics and even worse timing. But it pales to the classified storage clusterfuck, obstruction, and general lawlessness going on at Mar-e-Lego and the complete disregard for morality and scruples and ethics and whatever else might be decent by Captain Spray Tan and the chunks of garbage that defend him daily. 

One thing it *might* do is thinly shield the Justice Dept. from criticism, demonstrating that "See. we take this seriously," and that classified document disappearance gets the full attention and thorough rectal examination no matter which side is in play. It will do little to actually keep the nuts from cracking, but at least it takes one talking point away from Orange Thumbs (not that you can really keep him or his nest of vultures from deflecting, denying, or deceiving whenever something becomes slightly inconvenient. 

Now, I would like the FBI, DOJ, and whatever other three-lettered gov't-funded drawer-sliding pencil sharpener to actually do their jobs and fulfill their mandate of actually investigating and bringing amoral thugs to justice (rich or not), but the ongoing delay is shrinking that hope and, it seems, slowly draining whatever breathing machine is keeping that prospect barely alive. 

Hey, you know what? This IS bad writing. But it's also part of the EXERCISE, so shut your piehole and let it continue to ooze until maybe sometime it evolves into something readable. 

Peace, Dr. Dre. 

Til Tomorrow