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Former FBI director, Instagram star, and philosopher poet James Comey is back in the news, folks. And that can only mean one thing: He has found a new way to humiliate himself in the name of hating President Donald Trump.
This week, the oafish, disgraced lawman decided to share on social media a picture of seashells on a beach arranged to spell out “86 47.” Get it? Eighty-six, or cancel, and forty-seven, Trump, the 47th president.
Ex-FBI CHIEF COMEY’S ‘86 47’ SOCIAL MEDIA POST CONDEMNED BY WHITE HOUSE AS BID TO PUT ‘HIT’ ON PRESIDENT
He captioned the picture with the very chill and nonchalant line, “Cool shell formation on my beach walk.”
Yeah man, like, right on.
Within minutes, people not in the throes of Trump Derangement Syndrome were pointing out that, after two assassination attempts on the president, this looked an awful lot like a threat to kill him, which is technically a crime.
Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard pulled no punches in the wake of the seaside scandal.
“We’ve already seen assassination attempts,” she told Fox News. “I’m very concerned for his life. And James Comey, in my view, should be held accountable and put behind bars for this.”
Comey’s version of events goes something like this: “I was strolling along the beach one day, in the very merry month of May, when much to my surprise, what appeared before my eyes, but an anti-Trump shell display.”
In a second Instagram post after deleting the photo, Comey played stupid.
“I posted earlier a picture of some shells I saw today on a beach walk, which I assumed were a political message,” Comey wrote. “I didn’t realize some folks associate those numbers with violence. It never occurred to me but I oppose violence of any kind so I took the post down.”
This smarmy non-apology is “sancti-Comeyous” enough to make your skin crawl. He did nothing wrong, you see. Somehow, Comey knew it wasn’t a random four-digit number, and that “47” was political. But heck, “86” could mean anything! And not fully understanding the message, he nonetheless took a picture of it and called it “cool” to millions of people.
None of that makes any semblance of sense, especially not for the former head of America’s once-hallowed, premier investigative agency.
I am willing to believe that Comey has led such a sheltered existence that he’s never heard a short-order cook yell, “86 the corned beef hash,” but how can someone whose entire career was spent in law enforcement not know that “86” can also mean rubbing somebody out?
And by the way, where is this beach, because just a few months ago in October, Comey, ever the avant-garde artist, posted a photo of a blue seashell with the words, “vote Harris,” painted on it. Is this some beach where people go to make left-wing political crafts all day?
I would really like to know where this beach is so I can make sure I don’t accidentally go there.
If you’ll pardon the phrase, the whole thing is a little fishy. Can I prove Comey or a friend of his made this stupendously stupid seashell stonehenge that threatens Trump at least with being canceled, perhaps with far worse? No, but it doesn’t seem implausible, especially given that it’s part of a set.
Either way, this is a man who was once the most powerful law enforcement officer in the United States who has been reduced to posting like a teenage girl who just discovered Sylvia Plath, and what is so sad and troubling about it is that Comey has made Trump his entire identity.
For years, Comey’s whole social media feed has been: “Here I am at the beach thinking about Trump, here I am in the forest thinking about Trump, now I am by the lake, and I am thinking about Trump.”
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But it isn’t just Trump that Comey is obsessed with, it’s also himself, and this is where his bizarre behavior is a symptom of a more widespread disease. He sees himself as the selfless soldier, hero in the history books who stood up to fascism and blah, blah, blah.
Those of us who have been paying attention know him as a liar who helped cook up the Russian collusion hoax that tied President Trump’s first term up in knots for three years at a cost to taxpayers of $30 million.
On Monday, James Comey will be on the Upper East Side of New York on a book tour, signing copies of his new thriller, “FDR Drive.” Not that I would ever suggest that has anything to do with this great man of principles’ attention-grabbing antics, but it might afford him a chance to explain himself.
Everyone at the Barnes & Noble that night will likely hate Trump just as much as Comey does. Many will take pleasure in the “86 47” post, whether it was meant as a threat or not. Will Comey be contrite over his ill-advised post, or will he just wink and sign books?
If Comey could look the Trump haters in the eye and say, “You know what? I went too far this week and I learned a lesson,” then it could do a lot of good. But don’t hold your breath. The next time Comey admits he was at fault for anything involving Trump will be the first.
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