John Bolton Invited To Kick Self In Dick At Earliest Convenience
Stop the presses, everyone, John Bolton is finally talking. Or shall we say, he is teasing. He's styled his mustache with some Bed Head hair gel he found at the Walgreens, he's wearing a sexxxy naughty cat costume he found at the Party City, and he's showing just the tiniest bit of nip. Now you see it, now you don't!
Bolton, who didn't see it as his constitutional duty to testify before the House or the Senate in the impeachment inquiry or trial, and whose book is now being held up — obviously improperly! — by the White House acting on allegations that Bolton is too much of an idiot to write a book without including a bunch of classified intel, is nonetheless talking.
And he wants to tell you what he knows, it's just ... can you keep a secret??? No, John Bolton couldn't possibly. John Bolton must now slip his nips back inside his sexxxy naughty cat costume, because our relationship just isn't ready for it.
In an event at Duke on Monday night, Bolton said Trump is full of shit on Ukraine, but "I can't talk about it." He said all the stuff that factored into Donald Trump's impeachment were just "sprinkles on the ice cream sundae" compared to all the bad shit he wrote about ... but he can't talk about it.
Asked whether he agreed with the president's assessment that Trump's July call with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky was "perfect," Bolton said "You'll love Chapter 14."
But you can't read Chapter 14. Chapter 14 is "classified." Chapter 14 is a victim of the "censorship." Chapter 14 is John Bolton's nipple, and you can't see it right now.
He could talk about what he witnessed when Trump met with Vladimir Putin, but oops, no, he cannot talk about that either.
"I say things in the manuscript about what he said to me," he said. "I hope they become public someday. He tweets, but I can't talk about it. How fair is that?"
It is very unfair. It is also what happens when you lie down with dogs. You get fleas on your nipples, and in your Bed Head mustache.
Here's the thing. It is absolutely fucked up what the White House is doing with Bolton's book, pretending shit is classified, holding it up in pre-publication review, because of how the tea Bolton wants to spill is embarrassing to Trump. They are absolutely abusing the process. All the same, if Bolton himself doesn't follow the process, he opens himself up to a legal world of hurt. That's the pickle jar John Bolton has done got his dick stuck in. (It is a very weirdly shaped pickle jar.)
And he knows this.
As Noted Smart Law Person Bradley Moss has been saying on Twitter, they can go after Bolton, and that is why this little striptease is so stupid:
@ByronYork @blakehounshell Yes there is - his SF312 and related clearance NDAs mandate he submit to prepublication… https://t.co/a2o0Tdyj50— Bradley P. Moss (@Bradley P. Moss) 1580088166.0
Moss even wrote a whole article about the pre-publication review process. You can read it, to know things!
Bolton is just baiting us, with his teases about his secret book knowledge and his teases about showing everybody his Down There mustache. He can't. And now he wants you to feel sorry for him.
Bolton could have testified to Congress. They coulda worked that out. But even that, it appears, was part of the tease, refusing to testify in the House while making Moscow Mitch an offer the GOP-controlled Senate absolutely would refuse.
Obviously Bolton knows a lot of stuff. We are confident his book is full of juicy revelations that might have been of interest to the Senate and the House of Representatives as they carried out impeachment. We are sure if he gave a fuck about his duty to the country more than he cared about his (hopeful, eventual!) book sales, he could have done a TV interview or fifty before the White House had a chance to bury his book in the backyard.
But he didn't.
So here we are, and John Bolton is just saying he is burdened with regret that he's unable to show you the nip you've been just begging to see, please send a sympathy card and some flowers to John Bolton.
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