HAVE WE JUST WITNESSED A NEAR PERFECT POLITICAL TAKEDOWN?

OK. Here we go again. Frankland, the John Grisham wannabe takes a look at the world through the lens of pulp fiction. Well, what the hell? Free country and all that.

So. Time to set the scene. We're somewhere deep in 'deep state' Washington. Pannelled walls and very old scotch. Maybe even a disregard for any smoking regulations. Low lighting. Probably lots of old leather. A group of old men, long accustomed to being the quiet power in the land.

They have all been watching the results from the US Midterm elections roll in. They have all breathed a sigh of relief. The people of America have turned their nose up at the 'in the face' racism. The orange monstrosity in the White House has received a resounding kick in the balls and now he's smashing up the furniture.

And he's weak. Oh yeah. Is he ever weak.

The guys on the old leather have made fine careers out of sensing vulnerability. Kicking men when they are down. Deploying flesh shredding force. They are the purveyors of extreme prejudice.

Is it time to put the jumped up baffoon on his back? Yup. Sure is. High time. Long, long overdue.

Quiet chuckles. Relished mouthfuls of old, old scotch.

But they can't be obvious about it. Were they to emerge out of their shadows, the narrative could turn in the blink of an eye. The orange monstrosity has a feral sense of emerging threats. Being obvious would mean him leaping aboard Airforce One and flying out into the sticks to rail about the machinations of the Deep State. And the morons in the Make America Great Again hats would probably buy it. Hook, line and Goddam sinker.

So no. Being obvious isn't any kind of option. This thing needs to be covert. Quiet. No finger prints. No traces of DNA. A stiletto eased into soft flesh at the back of the ear. And straight into the brain.

Leaving barely a mark.

So they take a run through the weaknesses of the orange monstrosity. There are plenty to go at. Corruption. Dumbness. Isolation. Creeping dementia. It's a hell of a list.

And lies. Of course lies.

Lots and lots of lies. So many lies. His lies have lost any kind of novelty. Constant lying means nobody believes a word he speaks. Even when it's the truth.

Suddenly the debate is stopped in its tracks by a low chuckle from the corner of the room. A gaunt face and a body well into the last knockings. Eighty six years on the clock. Sixty five years of time served in the darkest of the dark corners. Vietnam and Laos and El Salvador and Nigaragua and Panama and Kosovo and Iraq and Saudi Arabia and Pakistan.

"You know what guys, the dumb motherfucker's been crying wolf. And we all know what happened to the boy who cried wolf, right?"

They do know. And in a matter of minutes the plot is flesh on the bones. Just so long as the forecasted weather plays ball.

A hotel in Paris. The orange monstrosity is catching some last TV before being choppered to the US Military cemetery at Belieu Wood where a hundred years earlier the Dough Boys learned all about the realities of the Great War.

Everyone is giving him a wide berth. He's like an unexploded bomb, cursing the faces on the TV. Cursing the election results. Cursing the day he won the race everyone promised him he would lose. Cursing everything and everyone he can think of to curse.

He's suddenly aware of the suited man at his side. Two hundred pounds of toned muscle. Death in a nice suit. Cropped hair and square features.

Mr President, we have a problem. The weather is too bad for Marine One to fly. Too much rain. Too much fog. And if we drive...... Well. It's 55 miles and we cannot guarantee your security. Not at such short notice...

The orange monstrosity doesn't take a lot of convincing. He hates going any where near heavy rain. Heavy rain threatens the hold of his hair spray and that would be a nightmare beyond all others.

So, fine. Fuck it. If that's the way it is, that's the way it is. He snaps open another can of Diet Coke and resumes his tirade at the motherfuckers on the TV.

Two days pass and the motherfuckers on the TV start to take him apart with a thousand cuts. They talk about true colours. They jog the nation's memory of his draft dodging. They revel in the memory of him using his wealth and connections to stay clear of the jungles of Vietnam. They play clips of him attacking kneeling NFL superstars for disrespecting the veterans. They play clips of him going on and on and on and on about how much he loves and respects the men and women who have fought to keep America safe.

And now? Well now the draft dodging coward can't be bothered to stand and respect the Marines who a hundred years earlier had fought and died in the hell of Belieu Wood. He prefered to stay in his room and watch TV. 

Why? Because it was raining! 

All over America guys in their MAGA hats feel suddenly confused. Why is their guy suddenly making like such an asshole? They're all good with the racism and the women hating. I mean, duh? Corruption? Who gives a shit. Russia? Who gives a shit.

But this? Staying home and disrespecting veterans because of a bit of rain? 

No way.

And in the bars in the towns where there used to be coal mines and steel mills, the talk starts to turn ugly for the orange monstrosity. Talk of him making like a pussy assed sonofabitch. Talk of him making like some rich kid motherfucker from Queens. 

And of course the orange monstrosity jumps out in front of the cameras to explain what had actually happened. It wasn't the rain! It was the secret service guys! They insisted! They couldn't guarantee security....

He cries wolf. And the harder he tries to say this time he isn't lying, the more everyone assumes that is exactly what he is doing.

And the wolf bares its yellow teeth at the boy. And the boy wets himself in terror. Because nobody is coming. Not this time.

And in a fine old town house deep somewhere in Vermont, a face with 86 long years on the clock cracks into a satisified smile.

"Why are you smiling Grandpa?"

"Oh, I was just thinking a story my mother used to tell me. Have you ever heard about the little boy who cried wolf....."