I hope that Bob Woodward never uncovers a plot to murder me. Because by the time that he gets around to writing a book about it, I'll be long gone and forgotten.
Don't get me wrong, I love Bob. I have loved Bob for a very long time--at least since Robert Redford impersonated him in 1976. And I despise Trump. Nothing would make me happier right now than to turn on the tv and see him onscreen saying, "I quit." My heart would leap up. My joy would be so great that I might not survive the experience...but if I didn't, at least I would die happy.
And I hold him responsible for the high death toll that Covid-19 has reaped in the United States. In fact, I just heard a doctor say that if Trump had acted right away that we would have had around 10,000 deaths...instead of 190,000. And rising.
But let me get this straight: Trump told Bob Woodward that he knew how serious the virus was in February. And Woodward watched Trump lie to the public dozens of times...and watched the death toll rise...but he didn't say a word until now...six and one-half months later? Couldn't he have written a fucking article for WaPo?
It might not have done any good, of course. But we'll never know, will we? It's hard not to think that Woodward pulled a John Bolton here...held back information which would have been very valuable to the American public so that he could maximize his own personal profits by writing a goddamned book. And Woodward has a net worth of $15 million.
I am not nearly as fond of Bob Woodward as I was yesterday. In fact...I think I lied earlier on. I don't think I love him anymore.
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