Hopelet— A Soliloquy

Hope Hicks Left the White House. Now She Must Decide Whether to Talk to Congress.

To comply, or not to comply, the New York Times’ question:

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer Orange blobs and Russian mobs of outrageous cleptocracy,

Or to take arms against a sea of Congress

And by opposing end Trump. To lie—to plead the 5th,

No more; and by ignoring the subpoena to say the end

The heart-ache of a thousand overvalued stocks

Bloated flesh, straw hair: ’twill end the nation…

Devoutly to refuse, feloniusly, too deep;

Testify, perchance not break the law—ay, there’s the rub:

For in that testimony of treason what screams may come,

After having ironed his giant soiled

Pants that give me pause—where’s the respect

That makes calamity of so wrong life.

For who would bear the quips that scorn at all time,

Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

The pangs of lost rule, of law— delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That impatient meritless of th’unworthy fraud,

When he himself rare his quietus make

Dilated soulless stare. Endless fake tales bear,

To grunt and sweat under White House strife,

Tweeting with the dread of impeachment worse than death,

Think— unrecovere’d children, from travelers bourn

No returns, puzzles the will,

Refugees rather bear those ills on foot

Than fly to other ports that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

And thus uncaged few by desolution

The sicklied die o’er ICE cast about,

In enterprises of privetized greed

With no regard their currency turned from rubles

Laundered through a trademarked tower named for assclowns.

~Hopelet, the Bard and Me

Spare me the existential crisis: Hope Hicks, beautiful, and Thinky Too. This administration is not immune to the laws they break.

I’m subscribing to New York Times right now, just so I can cancel.