Rupert vs. Donald: Let Them Fight

Trump's lawsuit is taking the throw-pillow to a gunfight.

I’m writing this morning from a house on Fire Island overlooking the placid Atlantic, and it’s glorious. Zenlike. Leveling and calming. Unlike the roiling lava pool in Donald Trump’s desperate brain. Things have gone from bad to weird for Trump in the last 36 hours.

Donald J. Trump is suing The Wall Street Journal over the revelation of a bizarre, deeply incriminating birthday letter Trump sent to his now-deceased best friend and scumbag-Olympics running buddy, Jeffrey Epstein, boasting of their “beautiful secret.”

Over nine brutal days, Trump has managed to alienate his base and strain even MAGA-friendly media’s ability to hoover up his feces and declare it high-grade Bolivian marching powder.

And Epstein, America’s reigning champion in the perverted pageant of dead pedophiles, has become the Gordian knot Trump can’t untie. It’s like watching a walrus try to fuck a greased beach ball: fruitless, loud, grotesque, and nobody leaves unscarred.

Trump’s answer? A lawsuit…the same weaponized balloon-animal he’s deployed countless times to intimidate. Most of his absurd $19 quadrillion defamation suits are nothing but noise and nuisance. Sadly for Trump, this one is for all the marbles, given his sweeping and terrible political calamities rising from the grave of Epstein.

This time, he’s targeting Rupert Murdoch’s empire. This is like declaring a land war in Asia or going in against a Sicilian when death is on the line.