Well, folks, it’s finally over. On November 26, 2025, the last wheezing corpse of the “Get Trump” election-interference circus got stuffed into a pine box and lowered into the Georgia clay. The new prosecutor – some poor suit who inherited Fani Willis’s steaming pile – walked into court, shrugged, and said, “Nah, we’re good fellas.” Judge Scott McAfee stamped DISMISSED so hard the gavel probably cracked. Just like that, the racketeering fantasy that began with a grand jury drunk on late-night cable news evaporated like a Fulton County ethics scandal.
And with it went the very last criminal case pretending that asking questions about an election is suddenly a felony – provided you’re a Republican with an R next to your name.
A Sacred Ritual Older Than the Republic Itself
Americans have been screaming “fraud!” since George Washington was still losing his wooden teeth in cider. John Adams thought Jefferson rigged it with French money. Andrew Jackson literally called the 1824 race the “corrupt bargain” and spent four years growling about it until he kicked the door down in 1828.
Questioning elections isn’t treason, it’s practically the national pastime – right up there with baseball and pretending we like soccer every four years.
The First Amendment doesn’t come with an asterisk that says “*except if you’re really, really serious about it.” Petition the government for redress of grievances? That’s literally in the text. So is free speech, free assembly, all that jazz they taught you before the schools switched to drag-queen story hour.
Yet somehow, when Donald Trump and a few lawyers said “questioned” 2020, it was suddenly the greatest threat to democracy since the Kaiser. Phones got tapped, grand juries got empaneled, TV lawyers got new vacation homes. Meanwhile, Democrats have been running the same play for two decades and nobody even asks them to put the crack pipe down.
The Democrat All-Star Team of Noble Election Denial
Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we?
Hillary Clinton spent four solid years telling anyone with a microphone that Trump was “illegitimate,” that the election was “stolen,” that Russians hacked voting machines in between posting cat memes. She said it on television, in interviews, in her weepy memoir that sold seventeen copies. No indictment. No dawn raid. Just a Netflix deal.
Stacey Abrams turned “I lost the Georgia governor’s race” into a multi-million-dollar personal brand. She never conceded. She said the election was “stolen from the voters of Georgia” because – get this – not enough people voted for her. Hollywood gave her awards. Voting-rights groups gave her money. Vogue put her on the cover looking like Eva Perón with better lighting. Still waiting on that RICO charge, fellas.
Jimmy Carter called the 2016 race illegitimate. John Lewis said Trump wasn’t a “legitimate president.” Jamie Raskin and half the Democratic caucus tried to throw out electoral votes in 2017 because… feelings. Kamala Harris literally fund-raised for the 2020 rioters while cities burned, then called the protests “essential” to democracy. Crickets from the DOJ.
Hell, in 2004 half the Democratic Party insisted Bush stole Ohio with Diebold machines programmed by Karl Rove’s personal coven of witches. They made an entire documentary about it that played in art-house theaters between screenings of Michael Moore farting into a megaphone.
None of them got frog-marched. None of them got bank accounts frozen. They got book deals, speaking gigs, and cable-news contracts.
But When a Republican Does It, Suddenly It’s January 6th All Over Again
Trump says “let’s look at the thing” and suddenly he’s running a criminal enterprise on par with the Gambino family. Alternate electors – a move Democrats tried in 1960 and Hawaii actually used in 1960 – becomes “fake electors.” Calling state officials to “find” votes – the exact same language Jimmy Carter used about his own race – becomes felony solicitation.
The message was crystal clear: Question elections all you want, just make sure you’re wearing the right team jersey.
And Now the Punchline
Two days ago the whole rotten edifice collapsed. The prosecutor looked at the calendar, saw Donald Trump was back in the White House, and decided prosecuting a sitting president for hurt feelings might not be a career-enhancing move. Poof. Gone. Just like Jack Smith’s federal fantasy a few months earlier.
All that sound and fury, all those millions in taxpayer money, all those midnight raids and mugshots – for nothing. The cases died not because Trump was innocent or guilty, but because even the most rabid lawfare zealots finally realized you can’t indict a president for president for doing what Democrats do before breakfast.
So here’s to the next election. May the losing side whine loud, long, and expensively. May they write books nobody reads and give speeches to half-empty hotel ballrooms. May they insist the machines were hacked by Martians working for Elon Musk.
Just don’t expect equal treatment under the law. Some animals are still more equal than others.
But at least, for one brief shining moment in November 2025, the Constitution won. And the racketeers lost.
Pass the bourbon.