Comey prosecutor Lindsey Halligan shits the bed

it's a five-alarm fucktangle as Judge Fitzpatrick smacks the DOJ upside the head

here’s a heartwarming tale of what happens when the dumbfuckiest shit-for-brains ever to crap a diaper in the Oval Bordello tries to persecute a political enemy.

yesterday, this whole ‘let’s go after James Comey, c’mon, it’ll be fun’ thing blew up in the Department of Justice’s faces, in the most clownfuckingly spectacular way possible — but that’s pretty much what you can expect when President Moe directs Attorney General Larry to have US Attorney Curly prosecute a case.

now, I don’t know dick about law, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a good thing for a prosecutor when a judge accuses them of a ‘disturbing pattern of profound investigative missteps’ and also ‘fundamental misstatements of the law.’

A federal judge on Monday offered a blistering assessment of the Justice Department’s case against former FBI director James B. Comey, detailing what he described as a “disturbing pattern of profound investigative missteps” and possible misconduct that could imperil the prosecution.

U.S. Magistrate Judge William Fitzpatrick criticized authorities for their “cavalier” attitude toward the rights of Comey and others. Lindsey Halligan, the Trump-appointed U.S. attorney overseeing the case, also appeared to have made “fundamental misstatements of the law” to the grand jury that indicted Comey on charges of lying to Congress, he wrote.

hey, did you know that it’s wrong to tell a grand jury to ignore the weak evidence that’s actually before them, because you pinky-swear that a metric fuckton of ‘better evidence’ will be presented at trial?

“That statement clearly suggested to the grand jury that they did not have to rely only on the record before them to determine probable cause but could be assured the government had more evidence-perhaps better evidence-that would be presented at trial.”

it turns out that’s a no-no — and guess what: it’s also wrong to get that ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing completely ass-backwards.

At one point, Fitzpatrick said, she appeared to suggest that Comey would have to answer those questions himself and explain his innocence at trial — a mischaracterization of the government’s burden to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt.

look, Lindsey Halligan has to plead ignorance on this thing. because if anyone had said anything at all to her when she first started at the Department of Justice that that sort of thing was frowned upon…

now, I can hear you asking, ‘but Uncle Jeff, what did Donny expect when he named one of his ace team of parking garage lawyers to go after Comey?’ — to which I say, shut your lying mouth. that’s some pernicious slander right there. Lindsey Halligan is not a parking garage lawyer. she’s an insurance lawyer — and who cares if she’s never actually prosecuted a criminal case? how hard could it be? prosecutors win all the time on TV. you just bark out a bunch of angry words, and then the defendant breaks down on the stand, and goes ‘yes, yes, I did it! I’m guilty!’

and then it’s roll credits. ipso fucking facto, am I right?

look, does it really matter that Lindsey Halligan got her law degree out of a Cracker Jack box she fished out of a dumpster behind Trump University? no, not at all — not when she always has the option of texting her colleague, America’s tipsiest US Attorney Jeanine Boxwine, and asking to borrow her well-thumbed copy of Prosecuting for Dummies.

folks, here’s the silver lining in this nightmarish storm-cloud of shitfuckery we’re currently trapped under: Donny values looks and slavish loyalty over competence. he always has, and his advanced cognitive decline has only made his erratic hiring practices worse. Donny’s dipshit autocracy is falling apart right now, because it’s morons all the way down.

let’s remember how we got here. Donny was super horny to chuck James Comey into all the prisons, but he had a problem: no reputable US Attorney wanted to touch this case, because in order to win, you need actual evidence that a crime was committed — and, spoiler alert, there wasn’t any.

but Donny didn’t want to hear any of this namby-pamby ‘but there’s no evidence’ crap from any of those disloyal attorneys, so he fired all their commie asses — and, in that Truth Social post that was actually supposed to be a private message, ordered Pam Bondi to hire Halligan.

did it matter to Donny that Lindsey Halligan had zero experience in either grand jury or criminal courtroom procedure?

fuck no. what mattered is that she looked the part — ‘straight out of central casting,’ as Donny likes to say. look at her, with her power suit, strong jawline, and perfectly coifed hair.

inside Donny’s decaying brain, there was Smoking Hot Lindsey in a courtroom — just like on one of those TV dramas — going ‘isn’t it true, Mr. Comey, that on the night of October 14th, you came home to find your wife in the arms of another man? and in a fit of rage, you directed one of your underlings to lie about Dear Leader to the January 6th Committee?’ to which Comey was supposed to burst into tears and go ‘yes, yes! it was me! I’m guilty.’

spoiler alert: none of that shit happened. what happened is that Judge Fitzpatrick smacked Halligan upside the head.

“Accordingly, when prosecutorial misconduct before the grand jury prejudices a defendant and threatens the defendant’s right to fundamental fairness in the criminal process, a district court may exercise its supervisory authority to dismiss the indictment.”

that’s right, the judge could very likely dismiss the Comey case long before it ever goes to trial. how completely fucking embarrassing that would be for Lindsey Halligan and the Department of What Used To Be Justice.

America’s mad king will throw a twenty-megaton tantrum if that happens, but too fucking bad.

Donny can rant and rage and power-load all the diapers he wants, but he has no one to blame but himself — because that’s what happens when you act first and think never. that’s what happens when you appoint unqualified toadies because they look the part, and because they flattered you on Fox News.

that’s what happens when you appoint dunk-tank clown Flippy McCrushnuts to be your Secretary of Whatever The Fuck He’s Calling Himself Today: classified war plans get drunk butt-dialed to reporters.

that’s what happens when you name a reality show washout to be your Secretary of Transportation: planes start falling out of the sky.

that’s what happens when you pick a whale-head-chainsawing crackpot to be your Secretary of Health and Human Services: for the first time in a generation, you have measles outbreaks.

and that’s what happens when you assign a beauty-pageant-finalist insurance-lawyer to go after your political enemies: all those dreams of sweet revenge and retribution go fuckity-bye.

reap, sow. rinse, repeat.

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now let’s watch as Preznit Fuckwit, that peak exemplar of charisma, charms a recalcitrant reporter over to his side.

Bloomberg reporter Jennifer Jacobs: “if there’s nothing incriminating in the Epstein files, sir, why not—?”

Donny [stabbing his finger right into her face]: “quiet. quiet, piggy.”

he’s such a ginormous piece of shit, and he’s only getting worse as he decays.

when, at long last, is enough going to be enough? when will some reporter, having been insulted one too many times, finally get up the gumption to win my What The Fuck Is Wrong With You Challenge™ — which, by the way, is now in its 2,058th day.

and, finally, please remember that with Donny, every accusation is actually a confession.

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here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

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this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

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