When, on June 18, 1972, The Washington Post published without fanfare an article headlined “5 Held in Plot to Bug Democrats’ Office Here,” Richard Nixon smiled. “I am the most powerful man on the face of the earth. They won’t touch a hair on my head,” Tricky Dicky mused.* Despite the fact he was obviously aware it was the largest corruption case in 200 years, Nixon thought he was untouchable
Five months later, his arrogance increased exponentially with the revalidation of his mandate in a landslide victory of 18 million votes over McGovern. Less than two years later, the Californian made history by becoming the first president to flee the White House through the back door, victim of the rogues at Watergate. It is a well known fact: The threat of impeachment works miracles.
I never liked Donald Trump. Basically, because he’s a little nutty. A guy who says, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters,” should not occupy the Oval Office but a room at the nearest psychiatric center.
An individual who claims, “… when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything…Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything …” is an undesirable person, not to mention a psychopath.
Many fellow citizens in my ideological zone, the center-right, love him. I personally abhor having crazies as members of my political party, football team, family or neighborhood.
Less than a year ago, we learned that Trump beat Hillary Clinton thanks to espionage by the Russians, who hacked the Democrat candidate’s emails; emails which were conveniently aired during the campaign, reversing polls which had predicted an incontestable triumph for the rival of sad Melania's husband.
The scandal is a factual, metaphorical and timely clone of Watergate.
In the summer, the water was up to his knees, but now it reaches his navel, slowly but steadily approaching his styled red hair.**
The confession of his national security advisor Michael Flynn, who admits to having committed perjury, places him on the edge of the abyss. Whether he falls or not—and I think he will fall—what I envy most is to see how the very director of the FBI, the incorruptible Robert Mueller,*** is already indicating that he knows who the head of the gang is. If he has to prosecute him, he will prosecute him. And if nothing else, the U.S. will be strengthened by the blow.
* Translator’s Note: Richard Nixon was actually called Tricky Dick, not Tricky Dicky.
**Editor’s Note: Although correctly translated, Donald Trump has blond hair, not red hair.
***Robert Mueller is currently special counsel in charge of the investigation into charges of Russian interference in the 2016 presidential election. He served as FBI director from 2001-2013.
Cuando el 18 de junio de 1972 The Washington Post publicó sin grandes alardes una noticia titulada «Cinco hombres detenidos cuando intentaban espiar las oficinas del Partido Demócrata», Richard Nixon sonrió. «Soy el hombre más poderoso sobre la faz de la tierra, nadie me tocará un pelo», caviló Tricky Dicky (El Tramposo Robert). Se creía intocable pese a que, obviamente, no se le escapaba que se trataba del mayor caso de corrupción en 200 años de historia. Cinco meses más tarde, su prepotencia se incrementó exponencialmente al revalidar mandato con una goleada de escándalo (18 millones de votos) a McGovern. Ni dos años después, el californiano hacía historia al convertirse en el primer presidente que se tenía que fugar de la Casa Blanca por la puerta de atrás víctima de sus golferías en el Watergate. Ya se sabe: la amenaza del impeachment hace milagros.
A mí nunca me gustó Donald Trump. Básicamente, porque está más pallá que pacá. Un tipo que asegura que podría «disparar a gente en la Quinta Avenida y no perdería votos» no debe ocupar el Despacho Oval sino una habitación en el frenopático más cercano. Un individuo que afirma que «si eres famoso puedes coger a las mujeres por el coño [sic] y no pasa nada» es un indeseable por no decir un psicópata. A muchos conciudadanos de mi perímetro ideológico, el centroderecha, les encanta. Un servidor detesta a los perturbados sean de mi bando político, futbolístico o familiar o del de al lado.
Hará menos de un año nos enteramos que venció a Hillary Clinton gracias al espionaje de los rusos, que hackearon los mails de la demócrata. Correos que fueron convenientemente aireados en campaña dando la vuelta a unas encuestas que auguraban un incontestable triunfo de la rival del marido de la triste Melania. El escándalo es clónico desde el punto de vista temporal y factual al Watergate. El agua estaba en verano a la altura de sus rodillas pero ahora le alcanza el ombligo, aproximándose sin prisa pero sin pausa a su tuneado pelo rojo. La confesión de su asesor Michael Flynn, que admite haber cometido perjurio, lo sitúa al borde del abismo. Caiga o no caiga, que yo creo que caerá, lo que más envidia me provoca es contemplar como el mismísimo jefe del FBI, el insobornable Mueller, apunta ya al que sabe jefe de la banda. Si tiene que procesarlo, lo procesará. Y no sólo no pasará nada sino que los EEUU saldrán fortalecidos del envite.
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