I watched the Nameless One’s big speech start to finish. Of his earlier speeches I’d endured a few paragraphs before switching off. Monstrous in effect, in affect he’s a bore. Look up bloviate in the dictionary and the entry reads “see DJT”.

                  But here, I figured, would be a climactic moment. The cornered rat would exhibit the villainy of which he was capable. He would complete his theft of America with a defiant dare, arm himself like Macbeth for this final showdown, conclude his litany of complaints with something like, “Therefore with the powers invested in me I declare the 2026 elections null and void and myself king!” The final fight would be on.

                  And what did we get? Drivel. Dribble. Whining. Dreadful adjectives but no verbs or nouns. A pathetic has-been muttering about his unadmired merits. If you only knew how great I am – great, greater, greatest! Poor me, best ever – and so sore beset!

                  That his every sentence was peppered with proven lies was beside the point. We’re used to that by now. If he weren’t the most powerful person on earth, it would be a joke. Jane started refuting him from his first whopper, “But that’s not true – and that’s not – and that!” Relax, I suggested, he lies faster than facts can catch up; assume his every word false and enjoy the show.

                  He uses words to intimidate, not deeds – adjectives, not nouns. His stunning new revelations were … old hat, debunked, nothing new. His schtick was pathetic, like a washed-up comedian’s, whimpering for the good old days: “You’re all meanies and I’m going to make you pay for this, you better believe it.” Through our screen wafted an almost acrid stench.

                  Here, as in all his policies, wars, bow-wow vows, was petulance but no plan. He boasts and browbeats but then what? TACO – he “always chickens out.” Here at his eleventh hour, he was chickening out again. Yuk.

                  Mind you, he’s still dangerous. We’ve given him dynamite to play with – he might just blow us up. His potential makes him scary but not his potency. In his Secretary of War’s elegant formulation, he needs a shot of testosterone to achieve “maximum lethality.”

                  The road from here? Crush him. He and his are on the run, chase them faster. Discredit them with a massive and inarguable defeat at the polls. A close win in November will be no win at all, as 2020 proves. “Close” to this whiner means “I really won.”

                  Then instead of punishment, devote our energies to replenishment – of the public treasury and the public trust. Yes, the malefactors must pay for their crimes – no amnesty – but reserve our strength for repairing tomorrow.

                  The Nameless One meant his big scary speech to redirect our national conversation. He succeeded. He demonstrated to anyone with half a brain he’s a laughing-stock, all bark and no bite. Let him rant – while we recruit. Let him keep trying to subvert the referees – while we improve our ground game. Let’s remind him day after day he can’t bullshit his way out of the mess he’s made.

                  I’m glad I watched his speech. I’m not scared any more. Yes, the final battle will be brutal but we the people, the American majority, has this flim-flam on the run. Like the people of Iran, we’ve faced his firepower and are still fighting. 108 days remain between now and Election Day, when 435 seats in the US House, 35 in the Senate, 35 governorships, and thousands of state and local offices are up for grabs.

                  Let’s grab them.