This is a dumpster fire

| 7:30 pm EDT July 5, 2021
Dear Palmer Report readers, we all understand the difficult era we're heading into. Major media outlets are caving to Trump already. Even the internet itself and publishing platforms may be at risk. But Palmer Report is nonetheless going to lead the fight. We're funding our 2025 operating expenses now, so we can keep publishing no matter what happens. I'm asking you to contribute if you can, because the stakes are just so high. You can donate here.

In Sarasota, Florida, an event was taking place. People had come from miles away. The palm trees swayed. The earth and the night smelled of summertime. The rain came down, gently at first, quietly, as it gathered in strength. It soon would increase in force, pelting down, although it bothered the spectators little.

Vendors were there. Music blared. The stars shone brightly as occasionally laughter would be heard. The chants of the frenzied crowd had started. A lone plane flew overhead, flashing “Loser-Palooza.” And the spectators were there, driven by a need.

There was a change in the air. If the air had human form, it would have been a dark and sinister form. There was a spell that had taken over the psyches of the people there. They were poised. Waiting.

And he was there. The one who had caused America catastrophic harm. The one who had hurt our nation so profoundly, many thought they wouldn’t make it through. The anger of the spectators was fused to him. For here, they felt, they could be themselves.

He called to them, but he didn’t see them. He was, in reality, too cruel to see anyone.
This didn’t matter to the spectators. He could see them, they thought. He was them. “I am not the one trying to undermine American Democracy,” the one who is trying to undermine democracy screamed.

He seemed to acknowledge some of his sins. “Murder is OK. Human trafficking? No problem. “But fringe benefits?”

The spectators cheered in a frenzy of rage that seemed to pour out of them as naturally as the sun rising and setting Their leader asked who had killed Ashli Babbitt. The truth was he had ordered her to the Capitol after telling her and thousands of others our democracy was being stolen.

The darkness of the night swirled around as rain came down, and the bitterness of the spectators hovered on the brink of madness. The spectators had been warned. Everyone had warned them. Their leader had even warned them.

Again and again, he had warned them. He told them of the snake. He had told them never to trust the snake: You knew damn well I was a snake. And they hadn’t heeded the warnings. Now here they were, before the giant snake, stung by an evil they would never understand.