He has no idea why his buddies tried to rob the bank. “Did you know this bank robbery was going down?” asks the police interrogator.
“No. I had no idea. They could have done it, but not that I’m aware of. But you should ask them,” he innocently responds with his eyebrows raised like a high school boy caught in an under-the-bleachers indiscretion.
“Did you plan this robbery yourself and hire these thugs?” asks the interrogator.
“Lordy me. Of course, not. I know these guys and they have always seemed on the up and up. I’m totally surprised they tried to pull this off; but you should ask them,” he repeats as he shrugs.
“Where were you the night of the robbery?” the detective cuts to the chase.
“I was home with my lovely wife reading a book after a long hike in the woods. We love to read together.”
“If evidence proves you were in contact with the suspects the night of the robbery, what say you?” the detective grills.
“I say it was ‘unrelated conversation’, of course,” Comey spat.
“Can you turn over your cellphone?”
“Do you have a warrant?” he snarls as he bares his upper teeth like a rat.
* * *
Comey is a media hog right now, desperately trying to wash his hands of any part of the Deep State’s Insurance Plan, before Barr and Horowitz complete THEIR investigations. He’s talking out of both sides of his mouth and contradicting himself in one interview. Comey’s guilty and running scared.
He’s done trying to sell his book of lies and now resorting to selling his interviews of lies all in an attempt to clear his name. He’s a stain on the FBI and that will be his legacy. He spied on Trump and there’s no denying it. A spy, is a spy, is a spy by any other name would still be illegal. He’s caught like an animal in a snare. He needs to get his private jet gassed up and ask Bill Clinton which island he can escape to.
Dry your hands, Comey. Just shut up and flee while you still have a chance or you’ll be wearing an extra-tall, orange jumpsuit soon and eating lunch with Cohen.