Ah, Washington, D.C. — the land of the free (if you have a good lawyer), the home of the brave (or at least the deeply connected), and the only place in America where the word “accountability” is used strictly as performance art. You’d think with five years of non-stop scandals, federal overreach, and legal fiction writing so bold it would make Grisham blush, someone — anyone — would be wearing handcuffs by now. But no. All we get is another book deal and a fresh pair of Jimmy Choo’s clicking confidently down the halls of justice.
Let’s review the DC menu of integrity, shall we?
COVID: Ah yes, the greatest science experiment ever conducted without informed consent. One minute you’re being told to “flatten the curve,” and the next your grandma is dying alone while Governor Newscum in California has a wine tasting party with his lobbyist pals. Meanwhile, trillions fly out the door through “relief” bills that look suspiciously like international slush funds with a few masks duct-taped to them for optics. Pfizer? Moderna? Saints, obviously. Just ignore those whistleblowers enjoying some “me time” in the basement.
January 6th: Because nothing screams “insurrection” like a guy in a Viking hat and unarmed retirees meandering through velvet ropes like it’s a Capitol Hill walking tour. But don’t worry — CNN assured us it was worse than 9/11, Pearl Harbor, and your mom reading your diary combined. Forget the obvious failures in security protocol, the strangely open doors, or the selfie-taking Capitol Police. Just trust the Select Committee — a cabal of soulless partisans and one Republican cosplaying as a Democrat — to give you the truth, re-enacted by the cast of “Cheers”
Election 2020: Nothing to see here, folks. Just the most secure election in history where questioning the results got you banned, fired, or labeled an extremist. But hey, mail-in ballots are totally immune to fraud, especially when harvested en masse and counted behind closed doors with pizza boxes taped to the windows. That’s how democracy works — trust, duct tape, and CNN exit polls.
Mar-a-Lago Raid: Because when you’re a former president, you get your home stormed by FBI agents over classified documents that every president since Truman has probably left in a sock drawer. Meanwhile, Biden has his own stashes spread out like Easter eggs across Delaware, and Hillary had an unsecured server with the nuclear codes in her yoga folder. But it’s fine — just a vinyasa thing. OM everyone and Namaste.
Falsifying Evidence? FBI lawyer literally altered an email to get a FISA warrant, and he gets… probation. No orange jumpsuit, not even a slap on the wrist. More like a firm handshake and a “Have we taught you nothing? Don’t get caught!”
Judges Undermining a Duly Elected President: Half the judiciary decided that “Orange Man Bad” was a constitutional clause. Secret injunctions, nationwide bans, and lawfare masquerading as justice. The courts became a Choose Your Own Adventure book written by Rachel Maddow and ghost-edited by the Lincoln Project.
Hunter’s Laptop: The laptop that didn’t exist until it did. The media buried it faster than Jimmy Hoffa. Turns out, it was all real: the hookers, the crack, the foreign pay-for-play. But sure — the real threat is some guy in a Viking hat trespassing in Nancy Pelosi’s office and taking a pull off her handle of Tito’s.
USAID & Ukraine: Billions in “aid” magically disappear into Eastern Europe while the IRS audits your Venmo payments. But don’t worry — your money is defending democracy somewhere near the Black Sea. Definitely not laundering it through shell companies, NGOs, or arms dealers with yachts and Instagram accounts. Oh Dear, now enter Ed Martin, the Swamp’s worst nightmare.
Now imagine, amid this carnival of criminal negligence and collusion, someone actually wants to prosecute the crimes. Enter Ed. No, not Ed from Massachusetts with the Senate comb-over — a different breed altogether. This one has the gall — the unmitigated gall — to believe that laws apply to everyone. Even people with Ivy League degrees and alphabet agencies on speed dial.
Why doesn’t the swamp want Martin as D.C. District Attorney? Because if he even sets foot in that office, the dry-cleaners around Capitol Hill will be swamped with emergency jumpsuit orders in prison orange. The Cole Haan loafers will be swapped for state-issued slides. The Brioni suits? Replaced by matching inmate numbers and a new respect for three square meals a day.
The fear is palpable. You can practically hear the cocktail party chatter in Georgetown: “Martin?! But we just hired him for a panel on ethics!”
“Do you think he’ll look into that USAID transfer to my cousin’s NGO in Kyiv?”
“My God, someone call Merrick! Or Jake Tapper!”
They’re terrified not because he’s political, but because he’s not. Because he doesn’t care which team you’re on — red tie, blue tie, no tie — if you broke the law, he’s bringing the rope. And that’s the last thing this city of grifters, spooks, and lifers wants.
Martin doesn’t speak the language of D.C.: obfuscation, delay, and performative concern. He speaks law. Accountability. Jail time. And in a city where that’s as rare as a Biden press conference without pre-screened questions and a teleprompter— it’s no wonder the swamp is panicking.
So yeah, they hate him. Because for once, the phrase “No one is above the law” might actually be tested — and not just trotted out as a punchline before a fundraiser. If you want real justice in this country, put Martin in the Swamp DA seat, hand him a plunger and let him drain the damn thing. And while you’re at it, start measuring those Ralph Lauren crew sock covered ankles for shackles.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go declare something untraceable in crypto before USAID turns it into a diversity initiative.
