Garland’s War Journal: August 9, 2022

I’ve been thinking a lot about one of my favorite movies lately, Journal. Unforgiven. In particular, I’ve been thinking about the final exchange between William Munny of Missouri, killer of women and children, and Little Bill Daggett, sadistic sheriff of Big Whiskey.

Bested in the climactic gunfight, wounded and staring down the barrel of a rifle, facing certain death, Little Bill says, “I don’t deserve this. To die like this. I was building a house.”

And Munny, cold and remorseless, says, “Deserve’s got nuthin’ to do with it.”

It’s an iconic, Oscar-winning denouement, Journal.

It also perfectly encapsulates my current predicament. I don’t deserve this either. I was building a house too. In 2016. It was going to be a really fancy freaking house called a lifetime-freaking-appointment to the Supreme Court of the United States of freaking America.

The venerable Barack Obama, closeted centrist, nominated me to fill the spot vacated by the legendary Antonin Scalia, originalist quack. I was a shoo-in. I’d sat on the U.S. Court of Appeals in D.C. for almost twenty years. My confirmation hearings would’ve been a freaking formality.

But no.

Tricky Mitch, gelatinous ghoul, just had to pour rocket fuel on the small brush fire that’d broken out in the backyard of our democracy. And now, six years later, our entire freaking country’s a climate-change-induced inferno.

Democratic institutions are crumbling. White nationalist terrorist groups are popping up faster than Chipotles. U.S. Senators care more about showing their derrieres on Twitter than passing laws. And somehow — amidst all of it — I’ve become the Attorney-freaking-General, responsible for presiding over a possible treason case against the puffery President, useful idiot, who’s supposedly planning to run for office again — presuming he doesn’t choke to death on a double quarter-pounder first.

Oh, and inflation continues to spiral out of control. Thanks for nothing, Joe, jovial nitwit.

Look, Journal, I’m not going to lie. I didn’t watch the January 6th committee hearings live. Nor did I listen to the allegedly “compelling” testimony from a bunch of traitors masquerading as patriots. I’ve got a real job to do, Journal. You know many freaking police departments and pharmaceutical companies in this country have consent decrees?

But I read about the hearings on Twitter and watched some TikToks. And let me tell you Journal, I definitely deserve better.

Check out this tweet from Randy Quaid (yeah, that one):

Nothing makes Brandon gnash his teeth harder than when he avoids publicly referring to Trump by name. Bet he uses it when he privately pressures Merrick Garland to prosecute Trump to divert attention away from Obama, and his and Hunter’s real crimes

Cousin Eddie here managed to blame Obama for the country’s ills andaccuse me of refusing to investigate Hunter Biden’s laptop — at the same freaking time! It’s like conspiracy theorist bingo.

After seeing that, how am I supposed to watch Christmas Vacation with my family this holiday season?

Look, Journal, is Hunter Biden a duncecap failson who possibly got himself into some graft? Sure. But see, the problem is, Hunter Biden wasn’t on Twitter announcing his crimes in real-time while the Capitol Building was being ransacked by Confederate cosplayers.

It’s my duty to follow the evidence, right? And it’s not like this insurrection case requires the talents of Hercule Poirot.

And yet, on the left, they accuse me of dragging my feet. Of acting too cautiously. Too slowly. They even say I’m “refusing” to investigate and prosecute the former President because I’m scared of playing politics.

But then, we conduct one itsy-bitsy little raid on Mar-a-Lago — which I may or may not have personally authorized using a request from the National Archives as pretext lol — and everyone behaves predictably.

It’s so freaking frustrating, Journal! I just want to stand at the podium one day and scream, “Listen knuckleheads, this entire gosh-darned circus is political!”

You can’t rush a freaking investigation into the former President. Where the potential charges are sedition and treason. Where the putative punishment is death!

It’s freaking ridiculous, Journal. Do you know what would happen if I brought charges against the former POTUS and failed to convict him? He’d be a freaking martyr!

Could you imagine, Journal? That nacho-cheese-filled stromboli a freaking martyr? Could there be a better way of reinvigorating his flaccid, decaying brand of grievance politics? Of giving credence to all the doofuses out there running around with Facebook-brain and AR-15s?

For freak’s sakes, Journal, didn’t any of these people watch The Wire? It’s like what noted philosopher Omar told Wee Bey: “You come at the king, you best not miss.”

Jiminy Christmas, Journal, you think Neil Gorsuch has to deal with this crap?

But there’s good news too, Journal. Because I’ve been thinking outside the box on this one. And I’ve got a foolproof plan.

A few weeks ago I reached out to Hollywood super-producer and former Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin. Remember that freaking guy, Journal? He’s hiding out in a yacht off the coast of Papua New Guinea, apparently.

Anyway, as one of the few Cabinet members who survived Cheeto Mussolini’s entire term, I asked if he had any unique insights into how I might finally pin down the slippery, would-be dictator. And Mnuchin gave me a brilliant idea, Journal.

He said the Department of Justice should just ask the former reality TV star to confess in a televised address. Said we should pitch Drumpf’s trial — and eventual public execution — as a ratings bonanza. In fact, Mnuchin said we could guarantee it’d be the highest-rated television program in history. 

Dwarfing O.J.! 

Shaming the Super Bowl! 

Under those pretenses, Mnuchin said the wizened purveyor of rubbery steaks and caustic vodka would willingly admit to his crimes for all to see!

Who’d have believed it, Journal? Steve Mnuchin: American-freaking-Hero! Though, to be fair, I guess I shouldn’t have underestimated the guy with the vision to bankroll Edge of Tomorrow and Mad Max: Fury Road.

So there it is, Journal. The solution to all my problems had been hiding in plain sight.

Will it satisfy the right? No, obvs. They’ll claim we had lizard people strongarm their savior into a coerced confession, or something equally ludicrous.

Will it satisfy the left? Of course not. They’ll say the death penalty is barbaric and insist we Defund the DOJ.

But none of it matters, Journal.

Because — regardless of what the pundit class says, and regardless of how much the public whines, cries, and moans — there’s one absolute principle at play. Something I learned from my childhood hero Matt Murdock. The man who inspired me to become a lawyer. The man without fear.

No one is above the law.