On January 6, 2021, I spent my day sitting on the edge my seat, in front of my TV, watching an insurrection. I sat in horror. And I prayed, “G-d, please don’t allow our clown to declare martial law.”
I prayed even though I knew that our bozo didn’t have the guts or the testicular fortitude to pull the trigger. He had never been a triggerman nor possessed a trigger finger. But he was a good watchman, who hid in plain sight in a house painted white. Who stood in pain as bone spurs ate his spine. Who bravely sat in front of a wall of TVs, surrounded by bodyguards, who carried loaded Uzis with their safeties on off .
But he was never an I’m-all-in-kinda-of-a-guy when it came to risking his life. Clowns never put their lives on the line. They never walk the high wire. He was the kinda guy who sat in the car and watched as others died, while he pretended that he wanted to be part of the action.
He never lead a charge up any Hill. He never marched for civil rights or against the war. He did not have bone spurs for it. He feared the acrid taste of tear gas or the sounds of billy clubs thudding on his skull.
But if spectators were awarded Purple Hearts, he’d possess more than one. Ya, he’d take risks but not when it came to his life. Ya, he knew how to gamble with other people’s money and other people’s lives. But he’d never risked his life for any cause not even for money.
He said,, “Only my followers are that stupid.” And yes, many of his stupid followers didn’t avoid: the draft, or the billy clubs, or the tear gas, or imprisonment or death. And yes, now the clown fears retribution from those followers. And yes, today I thank G-d for answering my prayer and the clown for not having the guts to pull the trigger.