This opinion -- oh heck, let's call it fact -- is not based on anybody in Trump's circle. Nor has anyone in the Miami court system told me a pro-Trump jury has already been chosen. Neither have the Proud Boys sent their best sharpshooters to take out the prosecution team as the walk into the courthouse. Yet.
Nope. What I'm going on is literally inside information: my gut. The same gut that tapped on my insides early on Election Night 2016 and whispered, "Psst. Hillary's toast."
My brain replied, "Really? Are you sure?"
"Bet the bank."
Lucky guess, you might say. Not so, I reply with all the smarm I can muster. Let me tell you the last time my gut gave me the lowdown when everybody else was swimming desperately upstream.
It was late Spring 2009. Michael Jackson was preparing (at the point of a lawsuit for breaking a previous contract) for, as I recall, 30 concerts in 40 days in London. That kind of gig would be doable for an entertainer in fighting condition like Bruce Springsteen. But a guy like Michael Jackson, with years of broken concert contracts behind him, not to mention a mountain of debt, increasingly wacky behavior, and not performing live since 2001? Preposterous. As I told one of my work colleagues, "He's not gonna do it."
Weeks of positive news ticked by. Tickets have gone on sale!
"He's not gonna do it."
It sold out in two days!
"He's not gonna do it!"
Michael's rehearsing 12 hours a day!
" I don't know what's gonna happen, but... HE'S. NOT. GONNA. DO IT!"
July 25, 2009:
I'm not saying I knew he would overdose on propofol. Nor am I saying he did this deliberately. What I am saying is that Michael Jackson knew he was neither physically nor emotionally up for those concerts. Yet if he cancelled, the promoter would have taken him for every cent, pet monkey, and child's toy he had. Subconsciously, Michael Jackson knew he had no other way out.
Let us return to Donald Trump. Or, preferably, return Donald Trump where he came from (and I don't mean the White House). Set aside the fact there's never been an ex-president behind bars, because there's always a first time for everything.
Look at the screenshot at the top of the page. Do you see Donald Trump surviving a jail jolt? He's a lumbering coward. He'd never leave his cell, except to allow the maintenance guy to clean the floor of his tears and urine. Heck, do you even think there's an orange uniform his size?
Uh-uh. Trump is going to do whatever he can to avoid prison. Pay a fine, accept house arrest, choke on a Big Mac -- anything to avoid being somebody's bitch. Especially if that somebody is one of the January 6 traitors who thought Trump would pay for a lawyer like he promised.
Take heart, GOP! Your stout savior will never see a day, a moment, a trilisecond in prison. The 46th president, if he lives, will roam the land a free man, riling up the base, fermenting chaos, insulting any Republican doesn't bow to him, and helping to lose elections -- even his own if he becomes the 2024 nominee.
And if he does go to that marble and brass hotel in the sky? My money says there are enough Americans who will never vote for anyone not named Donald J. Trump. And I mean never ever. As they await the return of JFK, Jr., so they will their corpulent commander.
Hm. Maybe I should reverse that good news/bad news thing.
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