Impeachment Pizzazz

Every newsroom across every channel was reporting it the same. “The Impeachment Hearing is dull,” they said. “The Impeachment Hearing is lacking in pizzazz.” One day into the proceedings and already it was over.

The bonanza turned out to be a flop.

On the second day, Marie Yovanovitch testified. A diplomat who spent the better part of three decades putting herself in harm’s way to serve at the privilege of the president.

President George W. Bush.

President Barack Obama.

President Donald Trump.

To name a few.

There she was, having raised her right hand, having sworn to tell the truth, giving herself over to The Impeachment Hearing. She was honest. She was forthcoming. She was dull.

But then…

As if to show everyone how it works, President Trump live-tweeted. This was the opposite of dull. This was pizzazz. As an audience member, never have I been so grateful for the feeling of dramatic tension generated by lack of impulse control.

Witness Intimidation is a hoot, Mr. President.

But it begs the presidential question: is this guy an idiot, does he want out of the job or is he so on top of his game that he lives in the rarefied ether of instant gratification co-mingling with long game brinksmanship, where the cosmos collide.


It’s never existed before in the history of mankind so either we’re living in the presence of a very stable genius or this turkey just stuffed himself in time for Thanksgiving.

Gobble Gobble, Mr. President.

I have to be honest, I lack depth, I’m shallow as a puddle. I have to be honest because my favorite part of The Impeachment Hearing has been the phone calls I get on a consistent basis from my college roommate, Vinny Vegas.

“It’s crashing down,” Vinny said. “Trumpism is the new McCarthyism. People are going to mock their friends for the sins of their fathers. It’s not going to be enough that you were a Never Trumper. It’s going to be a badge of honor to be on Barr’s List. If you weren’t in The Resistance, you’re doomed to historial punk-ass-bitchery.”

The cosmos are swirling. There’s exhaustion in the air. I know it. I can feel it. This evening I got a call from another friend, Trudy Truant.

“I heard my son singing a song from a commercial,” she said. “Oh, Oh, Oh, Ozempic. Instead of Oh, Oh, Oh, it’s magic.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” I said.

“Shut up,” she said. “Is this what we are? Brainwashed.”

The brainwashing is self-imposed. You can turn off the madness, it’s a choice. You can let go, free yourself of the dumb things put in your head by the people who raised you, the people who loved you, who didn’t know better, who chose not to know better.


I stopped telling people I read The Mueller Report, even though I just told you. It doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to impress you and even if I was trying to impress you, it didn’t work. See? I did it for the same reason I’m making time to watch The Impeachment Hearing. Because I have nothing better to do. Stop it! Stop what you’re doing right now. Stop. It. Don’t feel bad for me. I don’t want your pity. This is the life I made for myself – I earned this spot – crossing through the ether to the other side of intentionality, where I’m proud to report my findings on the real market value of pizzazz.

Pizzazz is kaput. Twinkle Twinkle, Mr. President.

3 thoughts on “Impeachment Pizzazz”

  1. This season should end with John Bolton testifying and Vladimir Trump and Bill Bar then declaring martial law. The credits roll as the army, led by General Bannon, locks up all of the Democrats.

    1. Your higher calling is starting to emerge: episodic television writer, political guru, the devil’s right-hand-man.

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