Sweethearts, America finally outdid itself. On Epiphany no less. Saints weep.
A mob dressed like extras from a bad Norse fantasy stormed the U.S. Capitol. Horns, flags, tactical gear, body paint. Men stomping through the rotunda as if they were at a football tailgate, except this time the opponent was democracy itself. The “greatest country on Earth” looked like a bar fight spilled into the legislature.
Police posed for selfies, windows shattered, offices rifled. Senators who normally strut on cable news scurried under benches like children in hide-and-seek. I half expected Nancy Pelosi to pop out of a filing cabinet and yell “boo.” Meanwhile the Commander-in-Chief sat glued to his television, enjoying the carnage like it was Super Bowl halftime.
America spends trillions on defense, spies on its own citizens, builds weapons that could scorch the planet — and still, a man in face paint with a spear can stroll onto the Senate floor. Foreign leaders must have choked on their popcorn. Putin didn’t need to lift a finger; America staged its own coup kabuki.
And what did we hear afterward? Calls for “healing” and “unity.” Unity with people who smeared feces in the Capitol hallways. Healing with men who zip-tied themselves for hostage-taking. Spare me. Sometimes the wound needs salt, not balm.
So here we are. January 6 will be filed next to Pearl Harbor and 9/11, except this time the invaders carried Trump flags and selfies sticks. History won’t forget the day America threw a tantrum and broke its own furniture.