OK, I’ll deal with this right at the top, because I know how y’all absolutely dote on every golden drop that falls from my fingers to the keyboard. Judge Ellis is a wealthy, privileged, arrogant, half senile dick. Which gives him something in common with Paul Manafort. From pre-trial motions on forward, Ellis showed a clear bias against the prosecution. He did this, in my opinion, not from any special affinity for Paul Manafort, but rather from a definite aversion to Robert Mueller and his prosecutors. Mainly because they were daring to prosecute a slightly seedier and sleazier version of himself. He used his power and authority to flip double barreled birds at all of us who don’t have ostrich skin jackets in our closets.
But when an arrogant, unethical prick like Ellis is part of a greater group of similar professionals, it tends to create a problem. They all feel pressure to overcompensate for his bad behavior. Many months ago, when it became clear that Brett “Come on baby, you know you want it, so hold still!” Kavanaugh was certain to be confirmed to the SCOTUS, people were bemoaning the fact that he was to become the pivotal swing vote that would tilt the court for a generation. I strongly disagreed, writing that instead of becoming the crucial swing vote, Kavanaugh had shifted that power to another justice. Kavanaugh is such an abomination to the reputation of the court, now permanently residing with Sean Hannity deep inside of Donald Trump’s colon, that left to his own devices, he would wreck the legacy of Chief Justice John Roberts. This has come to pass, Roberts has crossed over on a couple of issues to tilt the decision to the liberal side, as well as avoiding a few cases that the court normally have heard, to prevent having to do so again to offset Roberts.
As it stands now, Judge Amy Berman Jackson is now on deck, swinging a leaded bat in preparation of knocking Manafort over the left field fence next Wednesday. And regardless of what happens there, I content myself that if justice isn’t considered properly served, New York State and Virginia are waiting in the wings. If Manafort lied on his federal tax returns, then he also lied on his New York and Virginia state forms as well for continuity. And if he committed bank fraud, then New York is almost certainly going to claim jurisdiction as well. And let’s not forget about Illinois, he also defrauded a small bank in Chicago, while promising to make the bank CEO the Secretary of the Army. The only way Manafoert dies a free man is if he commits suicide after Trump’s pardon, while he’s out on bail awaiting his state trials.
But throw Paul Manafort into the shitcan for a moment, where he belongs. There’s another Robert Mueller miscreant who is still awaiting sentencing shortly, which means another defendant who is going to be facing another federal judge who may feel the need to do a little scale balancing routine of his own to restore honor and dignity to the federal bench.
That lowlife miscreant is, of course, Michael Flynn. If I’m Michael Flynn, I’m shitting pyramid size bricks right about now. It wasn’t very long ago that Flynn was sitting around with visions of sugarplums dancing in his head, envisioning a jail free probation and community service sentence in return for rat fucking every person he ever knew. And then, down the chimney came a bad tempered Santa, with a body bag full of coal for Mike Flynn’s sentencing stocking.
Judge Emmet Sullivan did not take to Michael Flynn like a fish to water. In fact, exactly the opposite. On what should have been Michael Flynn’s “get out of jail free party” day, his sentencing, Judge Sullivan showed up with a wheelbarrow full of shit, and a scoop shovel. He spoke witheringly about his complete disgust and disdain for Flynn, his arrogant, craven disgrace to the uniform he had worn, and even asked the prosecutor if his office had ever considered actually filing treason charges against Flynn. He made it abundantly clear that if he sentenced Flynn that day, he would not be walking out the front doors of the courthouse, by repeatedly asking him if he was really, really, really sure that he wanted Sullivan to sentence him that day, until Flynn’s dim bulb lawyer finally got the memo, and stuttered, “Well, uh, maybe we better hold off on that for a bit longer judge.”
You haven’t heard a word about Michael Flynn in the media since that day. Not a peep about him being spotted going in or out of Mueller’s offices. I find it highly likely that if Mueller released Flynn for sentencing, then he likely squeezed every last drop out of him, there is nothing more for him to say or give. Mueller’s crew did their job, they already argued for downward sentencing for Michael Flynn.
So, now it’s all up to Judge Emmet Sullivan to decide Flynn’s fate. I cannot imagine anything more that Flynn could have said to, or done for Robert Mueller that is going to cool Sullivan’s outrage. Nor can I imagine that the passage of this additional time is going to give Sullivan a more kindly view of Flynn and his treachery. But the delay in Flynn’s sentencing did accomplish one thing. It allowed Paul Manafort to be given a slap on the wrist with a velvet glove by Judge Ellis, and it gave Judge Sullivan a hook to hang his hat on for throwing the book not only at Flynn, but right through his chest. If I’m Michael Flynn right now, I’m spending a whole lot of time looking at blank walls, just to get acclimated to the view.
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