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Let a Thousand Lies Bloom
Larry Thornberry
by

Our David Catron is doubtless right that “to get the full impact of Cohen’s performance” one would have to watch the entire nine hours. But who the hell would want to? I’d rather have 10-penny nails driven through my eye-balls.

I did listen to a bit of it on NPR on my way to the gym and to Publix and the library. I always have NPR on in my car. It’s useful knowing what the left is up to, and NPR is almost totally leftist catechism. Plus there’s nothing else on the dial since country music went to hell. (Come back George Strait — all is forgiven.)

I guess there’s craft in just about anything, so some might even admire the dexterity with which our Michael tells the most bodacious lies, amending previous whoppers and assuring us this time he’s telling the God’s honest. The man can turn on a dime and give you nine cents change. It’s what he does, and he’s good at it. If free-style lying were an Olympic event, our Michael would retire the gold. His entire life has prepared him for this moment. Here’s a man who would climb a greasy flagpole to tell a lie from the top before he would stand on the ground and tell the truth. If the little hand were on the 3, the big hand on the 12, and Michael Cohen said it was 3 o’clock, I’d seek a second opinion.

Neither decency nor truth abide in the man. So I paid little attention to the serial lies tumbling out of this poisonous piece of goods, unimpeded by plausibility or coherence. After enduring just a small sample of the oily testimony that went on all day, I was left wishing I had the contract for carpet cleaning in that hearing room.

Larry Thornberry
Larry Thornberry
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Larry Thornberry is a writer in Tampa.
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