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Donald Trump’s penchant for pardoning seems to know no bounds. In fact, Trump has said he is considering “thousands.” This is, almost certainly, hyperbole. After all, how would he have the time to carefully read the voluminous and scholarly legal documents required with the submittal of a request for presidential pardon?
I know. I crack myself up.
Let’s just — Republicans and Democrats together — acknowledge we all know Trump isn’t going to read all that stuff. He can barely make it through the part after “Hello, my name is” on the nametag at a meet-and-greet. Trump often brags that he prefers to operate on “feelings,” or “touch” and, I like to think, a fortune-telling cootie catcher stashed in his suit pocket. Science!
Thousands? That’s an amazing claim until you realize who’s doing the talking here. Biggest, most-ess, best-est, blahblahblahblah.
In the spirit of President Trump’s unending generosity when it comes to righting judicial wrongs or, well, just seeing what the letters in his soup spell out, I’m thinking I’d like to pardon a few people my own self. However accidentally, the president has me in a forgiving mood.
I Hereby Set Untoeth My Seal and Do Heretofore Pardon the Following People Who Have Personally Wronged Me in the Distant and Recent Past In No Particular Order:
• That fellow who I let into traffic who did not proffer the traditional “thank you!” wave, even as he paused for no reason, then sailed through the green light and left me sitting, unacknowledged, with the red.
• The barista who continues to interpret my morning instructions of “light cream” as “one half-gallon whole milk” diluting the coffee to a degree that it reminds me of what one might safely give a grandbaby clamoring to taste what’s in PopPop’s mug.
• The young gentleman wearing board shorts and a “Vote for Pedro” shirt at the dry cleaners who, despite observing I have a single Sunday dress draped over my arm as I stand behind him, begins to pile such a procession of shirts, suits, pants, jackets, comforters, linens, curtains and, bless God, UNDERWEAR, that it will clearly take the one clerk on duty at least 20 minutes to deal with it all.
• The owner of the dry cleaners who thought one clerk was enough.
• That movie where the woman falls in love with a fish shaped sort of like a man who eats nothing but boiled eggs. Yes, there’s two hours of my life I can never get back. Oscar Schmosker.
• Anyone who uses Miracle Whip instead of Duke’s in their tater salad.
• Robert De Niro, for acting like a pure-t idiot at the Tony Awards. I don’t like Trump either. But there was nothing clever or useful about your little snit fit.
• The little girl in the Dollar Tree who pointed in my direction and said in a loud redneck singsong: “Meemaw, that lady shore has a big a--!” No, wait. Not her. She can never be pardoned for that.
— Wilmington, North Carolina’s Celia Rivenbark is a NYT-bestselling author and columnist. Visit www.celiarivenbark.com and follow her on Instagram @celiarivenbark.
Celia Rivenbark: Like Trump, I’m in a forgiving mood