IRL, I hunt bad guys for a living. From murderers to petty thieves, drug dealers to gang members to con artists, grifters and scammers who’ve bilked grandmas out of their life savings. I’ve found them all over the world.

That’s also the reason I use a nom de plume on Twitter and on my blog, by the way. Never a good idea to let felons know you’re looking for them.

(It’s also why I have to chuckle when people make threatening “anonymous” comments on my blog or Twitter feed as though I can’t find out who and where they are. Right Dave?) But, I digress.

I know their MO like I know the back of my hand. Especially confidence men.

Maybe that’s why Trump bothers me so much. I had this charlatan pegged from the get go.

Like all con men, the Comboverlord’s biggest enemy is time. The longer a con lasts, the more chance that the mark has to spot it. Their usual modus operandi is to make a big splash and get out with the cash and do so quickly before their victims find out what’s going on.

Whether the Emperor Hiro-Cheeto has figured out that the jig is up or if he’s so arrogant that he’s determined to ride this thing through to the bitter end is a question best left for others, but he is displaying all of the classic moves that I’ve seen in my twenty-plus years of tracking.

First, he chose his marks wisely – an angry group of people looking for a tough guy to extract vengeance for them.

Second – he managed to drive a wedge between his marks and their support groups.

Third – he extracted unwavering fealty from them – so much so that they’d rush to his defense even for the indefensible.

Fourth – he’s claiming a need for more cash because of extenuating circumstances.

All that’s left is for him to abscond with their money.

A part of me wants to hold out hope for a delegate revolt. I’m leaning against it though.

1). DT’s band of merry miscreants has already proven that they are willing and capable of intimidating delegates into silence or at least acquiescence. One only has to witness the behavior of his internet army of trolls to see the lengths to which they are willing to go.

2). The GOP has time and again proven their utter fecklessness in doing the right thing – even in what could be an act of self preservation. Far too many of the party honchos have already cast their lots in with the Donald. I believe they’re committed to him in some sort of bizarre suicide pact and/or they’re content to reap the minority status they will inherit with him as the nominee. The ones who aren’t ousted will still have their cushy seats on committees with no real responsibilities, the ones who are ousted will land on their feet and slide into jobs as consultants or lobbyists.

But (worse) 3). It would give Trump the out he needs to save face. If the GOP delegates dump him, he can cry to his base that he was robbed, start TrumpTV with a built in audience of victims and continue on. If the nominee other than him goes on to lose, he could forever call in to Fox & Friends and cry how “I could have won this if not for the mean old Establishment”.

Same thing with a third party run. As much as I dearly long for someone to vote FOR, a third party taking votes from him would give him the same “I coulda been a contender” result.

No, gentle reader, I think I‘ve moved into the Give-Up-On-2016 altogether camp.

To me, the best outcome is if Trump is the nominee and loses. Not just loses, but gets horrifically, ignominiously, humiliatingly trounced. For the good of the conservative movement, totally vanquishing him and his ilk would provide the purge that has been long overdue.

To quote a radio personality I once admired – “I hope he fails”.

For those gentle readers who do not know me, one of my all consuming passions (when I’m not snarking on the Comboverlord, that is), is my fishkeeping.

I’m one of those doting owners who names all of her fish and probably spends way too much money on them, but, they eat out of my hand and generally bring me hours of joy.

Several years ago, we had a devastating fire in our community. I watched nervously as the fire jumped line after line, destroying homes and businesses in its rampage, knowing we lived dangerously close to the area it was headed toward. The acrid smoke became nearly unbearable.

At that time, I only had four beautiful huge fancy goldfish (aged 4 to 10 years old) – all of whom had names, of course. But, just a few weeks prior to that I’d purchased three little Corydoras, thinking that Cory Cats would be great bottom feeders for my ever so messy goldies. I had not named them yet.

And finally, we got the reverse 911 call that we had to evacuate. Panicked that I was going to come back to ashes and a fish fry, I scooped up the goldfish into a giant bucket easily for transport to a friend’s house with a pond where they’d be safe. The Corydoras on the other hand, were having none of it.

Despite my pleas, they refused to be netted. After half an hour of trying, I sadly gave up – said a little prayer for them, and drove off to safety.

As it turned out, thanks to providence and the heroic efforts of the fire department, my home was spared. The raging inferno never got more than 500 yards from my front door. I returned home to an intact, smoky hacienda albeit with a few tiny char marks on the patio – and three very safe (and hungry) Corydoras who now had their names – Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

The panicked move, however, was not kind to the goldfish. One of them never survived the emergency transport and died a few short days after we got back home. Within a year, the other three all died.

The Cory Cats, however – are thriving. And that brings me to my analogy for today.

Yes, there was imminent danger. Yes, the need to get to safety was paramount in my mind. But, the panicked, haste filled drive to escape the conflagration was deadly for four. The three who refused to panic and run with the herd are left to tell the tale.

From Daniel 3:1-18 (NIV):

King Nebuchadnezzar made an image of gold, sixty cubits high and six cubits wide and set it up on the plain of Dura in the province of Babylon. He then summoned the satraps, prefects, governors, advisers, treasurers, judges, magistrates and all the other provincial officials to come to the dedication of the image he had set up. So the satraps, prefects, governors, advisers, treasurers, judges, magistrates and all the other provincial officials assembled for the dedication of the image that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up, and they stood before it.

Then the herald loudly proclaimed, “Nations and peoples of every language, this is what you are commanded to do: As soon as you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipe and all kinds of music, you must fall down and worship the image of gold that King Nebuchadnezzar has set up. Whoever does not fall down and worship will immediately be thrown into a blazing furnace.”

Therefore, as soon as they heard the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp and all kinds of music, all the nations and peoples of every language fell down and worshiped the image of gold that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up. At this time some astrologers came forward and denounced the Jews. (*Sound familiar?)

They said to King Nebuchadnezzar, “May the king live forever! Your Majesty has issued a decree that everyone who hears the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipe and all kinds of music must fall down and worship the image of gold, that whoever does not fall down and worship will be thrown into a blazing furnace. But there are some Jews whom you have set over the affairs of the province of Babylon—Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego—who pay no attention to you, Your Majesty. They neither serve your gods nor worship the image of gold you have set up.”

Furious with rage, (*Sound familiar?) Nebuchadnezzar summoned Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. So these men were brought before the king, and Nebuchadnezzar said to them, “Is it true, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, that you do not serve my gods or worship the image of gold I have set up? Now when you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipe and all kinds of music, if you are ready to fall down and worship the image I made, very good. But if you do not worship it, you will be thrown immediately into a blazing furnace. Then what god will be able to rescue you from my hand?”

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to him, “King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”

 

Now don’t get me wrong, or assume that I’m putting on airs here. Especially given my less than Christian responses to Trumpkins who have defiled my Twitter feed, I don’t think that anyone is going to mistake me for a Biblical scholar any time soon. But, believe it or don’t, I take great solace in the books of the Latter Prophets, especially in days such as these.

So go for it, Trumpkins. Tell me that I must bow to the ring of your idol. Urge me to panic and run from the impending fire. I know what happened to Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego – both in the Book of Daniel and in the House of Judianna.

No ring kissing or bowing down here, thank you.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some fish to feed.

While my sadness is great this morning at the loss of a candidate that I would be proud to vote for as opposed to a belligerent braggart who demands my vote out of fear of his opponent, I am beyond proud of David French for even considering a run. He demonstrated his wisdom and modesty (both a rarity these days) by noting that it would take someone far better funded and better connected than him to actually pull off a successful third party bid.

I also don’t begrudge his prayerful decision to spare his family any more antagonism. The social media hell that he and his wife have been through the past week has been nothing short of staggering and appalling.

Within hours of his consideration being leaked, Trump’s Nazis tweeted photo-shopped pictures of his youngest daughter in a gas chamber. A so-called “journalist” from Politico questioned his marriage.

The drumbeat would only have gotten louder because the main stream media has already selected our choices for 2016: “dammit – how dare you bring forth an interloper?” Radio talkers already in the tank for Trump were pooh-poohing consideration of a third party run by a true conservative as merely an attempt by the nefarious “Stablishmen” to derail the Great and Glorious man of “We The People” (retch).

Pundits who decried the fact that David French was not a household name and therefore unsuitable to run seemed to prefer celebrity (or infamy) to a man with solid principles entertaining the idea of running for the greatest office in the world – not to be a spoiler, but to actually try to win. Someone who was honestly willing to put himself in harm’s way in Iraq was again willing to put himself and his family in harm’s way by pursuing the presidency.

If there was a presidential campaign that should have been smothered in its infancy, it was Trump’s, not French’s. That the press showed that it easily could have derailed the train-wreck that is Trump and chose not to is perhaps the most telling part of this saga.

David French ran the social media gauntlet with aplomb and, if nothing else, by allowing his name to be considered, his potential candidacy demonstrated once and for all the division that the conservative movement faces. That there were voices who were willing to back a serial adulterer, a liar, a con artist, a supporter of Planned Parenthood, a gun grabber, an advocate for Canadian style socialized medicine, a misogynist and a racist over a man who is the very epitome of the very conservative values they supposedly espouse has been a defining moment.

One of David’s friends shared Bonnie Tyler’s lyrics:

“Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where’s the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?
Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
…
I need a hero.

…
He’s gotta be strong
And he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero

…

He’s gotta be sure
And it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
…
I need a hero”

David French, in that shining, all too brief moment, solidified his status as a hero to me for all time. I and other like minded conservatives owe him a debt of gratitude.

Perhaps America gets the politicians she deserves. From the demagoguery I witnessed on social media this past week, I wonder if America deserves a good man like him at all.

I hope that Mr. French will emerge as an even stronger voice in the NeverTrump movement. I hope that another equally principled challenger to the pretender’s claimed throne will emerge.

But even if it means that someday I’ll be sitting all alone with my crumpled and tattered “NeverTrump!” banner, I’ve found another hero.

Godspeed Mr. French.

And, thank you. From the bottom of my heart – thank you.

Allow me to play devil’s advocate for a moment.

When Ted Cruz first threw his hat in the ring, I was over the moon. I thought to myself, “Finally! A conservative – and a constitutional conservative at that”. Knowing full well that the GOP would seek to pack the clown car with as many would be pretenders to the throne as possible to dilute the vote and pave the way for their chosen middle-of-the-road squish (I assumed Jeb), I was not the least bit surprised to see a total of 16 challengers crowd their way in.

What I did not anticipate was the level of ferocity that the “establishment” would see fit to unleash at the senator up to and including, IMHO, the almost to-a-man endorsements of Donald Trump, a man who, in my eyes is wholly unfit for the highest office in the greatest nation on earth.

That’s why I am looking with bemusement at the groundswell of the faithful who are hoping against hope on two fronts.

Front Number One: that the delegates will see what a dangerous incredibly stupid move it would be for Trump to be the GOP standard bearer and somehow magically realize that they can abstain from voting for him on the first ballot at the convention and, on a subsequent ballot, give the nomination to someone more suitable. In tandem with that hope is the not too farfetched theory that Trump will continue shooting his mouth off and somehow his campaign will totally implode before July and “something must be done”.

And yes, all one has to do is turn on the news at any given time for the mouth shooting theory to be validated because saying something racist, demeaning or abjectly stupid comes as naturally to Trump as breathing for the rest of us.

And yes, I read the stories on an almost daily basis detailing how Cruz has managed to do an end run around the Comboverlord with delegates and is, presumably, still amassing delegates who are favorable to him as we speak.

As much as it would be a welcome bit of sanity in an otherwise all too insane primary, let’s take a moment and explore what would happen with that outcome:

First, there would be all out civil war and scorched hell on earth if anyone but Trump The Deserving gets the nod. He’d no doubt take immediately to Twitter (or wherever) screaming that the nomination had been stolen from him. His mindless minions as well as the press (who loves a good cat fight above all else) would resurrect the “Lyin’ Ted” mantra immediately. His thugs have already promised riots if there are shenanigans not of their own making at the convention, and I have no doubt they’d make good on those threats.

Second, the “Only Marco” faction of the party, many of whom were all too happy to join in with the Branch Trumpidians in putting forth any stories that they felt might damage Cruz (The Carson Iowa flap springs immediately to mind), would join in the revolt because they’ve been breathlessly hoping for Rubio to swoop in on his white horse and save the day. The chances of them accepting a Cruz nomination are somewhere between slim and none (and slim’s gone to lunch).

Third, do I really have to detail what utter crapweasels the GOP hierarchy really are? The spineless, feckless party leaders are no way going to sanction anything that would bring them negative publicity (well, except Trump, of course) – and a full out riot at their July soiree is not part of their entertainment plan. Honestly as opposed to Trump, I could even be talked into Jeb at this point if need be, but I will guarantee the GOP doesn’t have the stones to do it. The two schools of thought on the higher ups are that (a) they think they can somehow control or manage Trump should he actually win and he’d let them continue their entrenched ways unabated; and (b) they’re secretly hoping for a blow out in November because that will once and for all purge what they see as the “hard right” from the party ranks. Either of those scenarios is far more likely given their history than intentionally bringing a modern day version of 1968’s democrat debacle to Cleveland.

That brings us to Front Number Two: the “Write in X” campaign for November. (“X” being either Rubio, Cruz or, who knows – Pat Paulsen, maybe).

Only 43 states allow a write in to begin with, and all but eight of those require that candidate has to register before their name can even be considered as a write in. No registration – no vote counted. Period. As in tossed in the trash. As good feeling as a protest of that measure might be, it’s not going to do you any good unless Marco, Ted, Jeb or whomever has registered – and I haven’t seen any signs that they’re going to.

That would be the ultimate in “throwing away your vote” as many Trumpkins love to throw out as criticism.

So no, gentle reader, no way in hell would a write in candidate be able to win – especially when said write-in is going to be pretty evenly split between the two warring factions to begin with.

One of my favorite people to follow on Twitter opined today that “Maybe Fairy stories help (them) sleep”.

Unfortunately, this is the fairy story where the wicked witch actually gets Hansel & Gretel into the oven and enjoys a hearty meal.

There’s gotta be a third option. One that ensures that Trump will never get his tiny grubby raccoon hands on the nuclear codes.

Anyone who has read my blog for any time knows that I favor the third party option, if for no other reason than as a guarantee (insurance, if you will) to keep Trump away from the presidency. While my preferred warrior on that front has not officially announced that he’s willing, that’s where I prefer to hold my hopes.

When I was growing up, one of my best friends was a little blonde haired moppet named Debby. Debby’s mom, Hedy was from Germany. Hedy was, well, interesting. In addition to being an awesome cook, as evidenced by Debby’s brother’s waistline, Hedy was most infamous on our block for being the mom who would put Mercurochrome and a BandAid on any neighborhood child unfortunate enough to skin their knee in proximity to her house.

Hedy was also prone to fits of depression. In today’s world, we’d probably correctly diagnose her with PTSD, but back in those days, the other parents just explained it as “She’s had a hard life”. One day, after being the recipient of the dreaded Mercurochrome/BandAid combination after being unlucky enough to take a bike spill in front of her home, I noticed that she had a tattoo of numbers on her arm. Being the fearless six year old that I was, I asked her about it. Her countenance darkened. She said “Hitler”. I asked who this “Hitler” person was (again, I was all of six). I will never forget her answer. In a very low voice, she said “He. Was. Evil.” And at that point, she daubed my knee with more iodine and the pain was too great for me to continue my line of questioning.

Later, when my eyes had stopped tearing and the smell of Mercurochrome had subsided, I asked my mom who this Hitler person was. Mom explained as best she could to a young child that he was a bad man and one of the reasons that our nation had gone to war. She told me that he had ordered people who opposed him to be killed or thrown into prison.

Fast forward to my school years. America had all too recently returned from WWII. My fourth grade teacher, in fact, had fought not only in Germany but also in the Pacific theater. Mr. R. wore a back brace and had trouble standing in front of the blackboard for long periods of time due to the injuries he returned home with. To a person, all of my teachers knew all too well the threats of a Hitler, a Mussolini, a Hirohito. Unlike today’s campuses where Che Guevera is chic and Mussolini made the trains run on time and Hitler was a nice guy with a funny mustache and maybe a slight anger problem, the underlying focus of my education experience was the reinforcement of the fact that totalitarian dictators always bring horror. Especially when they are cheered on by easily led populist, nationalist countrymen.

I’ve tried to resist the all too easy slide into Godwin’s Law – but with Trump, that’s a Herculean task. If his Alt-Rt followers weren’t enough, the mere fact that he refuses to disassociate himself with them is troubling at best. Perhaps because of my upbringing, or all of the not-so-subtle cues I see from Trump, I sense a greater danger in his authoritarian bent (and the willingness of his followers to obey him at all costs) than many of my younger compatriots.

After all, Hitler’s command to his soldiers to “Have no pity! Act brutally!” is not unlike Trump’s exhortations to his followers. One of his sycophants, a talk radio host, actually solicited opinions from his listeners on which of his unbelievers “President Trump” should throw in jail and/or execute as war criminals a few months ago. And don’t even get me started on the arm salute he demanded (and giddily received) from his followers along with an oath of fealty.

My parents, like other parents of the day, wanted to make sure that their children had all of the advantages they didn’t have. Perhaps, in their love for us, they made it way too easy on us. I vividly remember my dad working three jobs to make sure the four of us had everything we wanted. The thought of him having to say “no – we can’t afford that” pained him so much that he literally worked himself to exhaustion.

Likewise, there was an unspoken desire to spare their children from the horrors of war – and over the next decade, that coincided with the rise of liberal leftist Che t-shirt wearing teachers who replaced the WWII educators as they retired. So, I’m willing to give some of my much younger compatriots who’ve come begrudgingly to the conclusion that “Trump is better than Hillary” a bit of a pass on the basis that perhaps their history and early education doesn’t quite align with mine.

After all, I grew up with Tex Avery and Looney Toons poking fun at the Nazis and kamikazes – they grew up watching “Captain Planet” and worrying about corporations and ozone. But it cannot and will not stop me from sounding a warning on the oft chance that they still might be able to put their Hillary panic into better perspective. Yes Hillary would be disastrous, but with a united opposition, she’d be survivable for four years. Trump would get no opposition from the roundly criticized spineless republicans in congress. They’d make more excuses for him than the democrats did for Obama his first two years. And if a republican congress dared to oppose him, he’d simply make some of his famous “deals” with the democrats.

The ignominious few who are hardcore Trump disciples, however – those who, for example, petulantly demand that I unblock them on Twitter so that they can continue throwing insults at me and continue their inane diatribe solely in order to impress their followers – will get no pass from me. They are beyond warning. Their fingers are so solidly planted in their ears that no reasoning, no explanation is possible and, indeed, to them I am surely one of those unbelievers that should be jailed or worse.

You know when there’s that little feeling in your gut that something’s just not right? And every time you ignore it, you realize later that you should have heeded it? Everything in my senses tells me that Trump is a two-bit tinhorn dictator waiting to happen. Call me a fear monger if you must. Tell me I’m irrational.

Better yet, tell that to Hedy.

If the rise of Trump doesn’t for all time demonstrate the ultimate fecklessness of the GOP, nothing will. The campaign of a reckless demagogue that should have been smothered in its infancy, is now being lauded by the same elite wizards of smart as “our only chance to beat Hillary”.

Once again, conservatives will be left like Charlie Brown hoping that Lucy will actually just hold the football and let us kick it through the goalpost – knowing in our hearts that she’s going to pull it away at the last second – like always.

But I am not only a conservative, I’m also a pragmatist.

So, here is where I am in a nutshell:

No, a “white knight” is not going to sweep in at the convention in Cleveland and miraculously save us from Trump. The Only-Rubio faction and the Only-Cruz faction are too far apart to let that happen. And Trump will, once again, benefit from the rift.

No, the delegates in whom we have vested so much hope and prayer are not going to stand up to Trump, Stone and his thugs who will, mark my words, intimidate and bully them into voting en masse for Trump on the first ballot.

No, the RNC is not going to suddenly and finally grow a pair and change the rules allowing for the ouster of the Cheeto faced conman once and for all. The party elders, knowing full well that the civil war from hell would break out if the nomination were “stolen” from Trump are too spineless to even attempt anything close to reining him in either during the nomination or, heaven forbid, if he should win in November.

Trump and his ilk have already boasted that they’ve remade the GOP into Trump’s “Workers Party”. His Brownshirt mob on social media has driven even the most ardent conservatives away. He himself has said that he doesn’t want or need our votes.

The GOP will be relegated to defending this buffoon for the next six months. Even worse, since the Comboverlord has already admitted that he’s, ahem, broke – there will be no ad campaign to counter the barrage of negative news from Hillary Land and the DNC that will gloriously spend June and July “defining” Trump for what he is – a vile, vulgar, loudmouth who is supremely unqualified to lead even a White House tour, much less the greatest nation on earth.

I’ve been alternately apoplectic and dejected since that fraud clinched the necessary delegates to assure his win. The few conservative candidates that could have won overwhelmingly in November were ousted through a campaign of division and chicanery. My overriding, burning desire is for Trump to fail. Not just fail, but go down to a crashing, humiliating defeat in November and crawl back under his rock to be ostracized for all time. But to best effect that outcome, I’ve waffled back and forth, as a committed member of #NeverTrump as to which course of action (or inaction) I should take. Do I actually cast a vote for HildaBeast? Do I just not vote for POTUS and let the chips fall where they may?

My hopes for a possible Libertarian surge with Austin Peterson were also dashed. There have been reports that LP members purposely voted in Governor Johnson specifically to keep conservatives from latching on to the LP. Either way, they became a much less attractive alternative during their debates.

Either way, #NeverTrump will be blamed. You and I both know that. If he doesn’t get the win (and he won’t) – it will be our fault for handing the election to Hillary. If we sit this one out, or if we vote third party – we’ll be demonized irregardless.

That’s why the news of a possible David French candidacy has me grinning from ear to ear. If I’m going to be damned, I’m damn sure going to enjoy being damned for supporting a candidate of honor, of morals and of principle.

I don’t have to give my vote to a draft dodging compulsive liar. I don’t have to pull the lever for someone who is anathema to every basic tenet I hold. I can and will joyously campaign for a rock solid conservative who, for a refreshing change, does not have a “R” behind his name hiding a myriad of non-conservative sins.

If you listen to the main stream media sycophants of Trump, the #NeverTrump movement is only a tiny handful of people anyway. My senses tell me that there are way more of us than they’d like to have anyone know about. My senses also tell me that there just might be enough of us to put Mr. French over the top.

The Branch Trumpidians are having veritable conniption fits right now:

• over an actual outsider
• over an actual constitutional conservative
• over a third party candidate that threatens to render their hostile takeover of the GOP meaningless.

Good.

They broke the GOP, they’ve bought it.

I’m going third party happily and joining the #FrenchRevolution.