50 Curtains of James
Statement for the Record Senate Select Committee on Intelligence
James B. Comey
June 8, 2017
“…Thank you for inviting me to appear before you today. I was asked to testify today to describe for you my interactions with President-Elect and President Trump on subjects that I understand are of interest to you. I have not included every detail from my conversations with the President, but, to the best of my recollection, I have tried to include information that may be relevant to the Committee…”
“I first met then-President-Elect Trump on Friday, January 6 in a conference room at Trump Tower in New York. I remained alone with the PresidentElect to brief him on some personally sensitive aspects of the information assembled during the assessment.
“The IC leadership thought it important, for a variety of reasons, to alert the incoming President to the existence of this material, even though it was salacious and unverified….”
[Senate Exhibit #12264–7–38563, Diary, locked, w/o key
Item damaged by F.B.I. controlled blast, contents partially readable]
Transcription of partial contents follows:
Met P.E.T. Tall! Strong shake. He’d been eating Cheetos, got dust on my hands. Didn’t offer me any Cheetos. Rudeness = turnoff. ☹
We talked. Things got a little OTT, discussed what he expects from me.
While telling him about salacious and unverified material — actually SHAKING! WTH???
He promised to keep in touch.
NOTHING like…you know. HE was never around, hardly talked on phone.
Could P.E.T. be The One to let me go all the way with mass-surveillance plan? Clapper, such a square, wouldn’t let us do ANY surveillance of American people. He and…you know…were so respectful of civil rights, wouldn’t allow ANY monitoring of communications. And still expected me to know everything from what was going on in planes we couldn’t bug (grandkid talk — GIRLS!) to if Flynn charging excess long distance numbers on P.E.T.’s phone bill.
Other Guy so quiet and needy. I’m not a mind reader. P.E.T. is different. Maybe…
“The President and I had dinner on Friday, January 27 at 6:30 pm in the Green Room at the White House. …It was unclear from the conversation who else would be at the dinner, although I assumed there would be others.
“It turned out to be just the two of us, seated at a small oval table in the center of the Green Room. Two Navy stewards waited on us, only entering the room to serve food and drinks.”
Things happening so fast! MORE phone calls, now — dinner. What should I wear? I don’t want to just blend in with the curtains!
Just the two of us — ALONE. I was scared…and excited. “Try the wine,” he said, pouring. He looked at me. I looked back. Silence….”
“A few moments later, the President said, “I need loyalty, I expect loyalty.” I didn’t move, speak, or change my facial expression in any way during the awkward silence that followed. We simply looked at each other in silence.”
“I’ll have to call home,” I said, taking a drink because my mouth was suddenly dry. One of the stewards looked at me like red with dessert was MY idea. What’s his deal?
“The President asked me if I wanted to stay on…”
He asked me, he asked me!
“I’m usually nervous and shy around FBI types,” P.T. said, “but you’re different.” What to say? The LAST guy was so cool, so detached, like he was royalty from some Asian island.
No word since dinner. I’m not calling HIM, you can bet.
Felt bunched. Faked a few more messages on the “Weiner line.” Still felt empty inside. Sent a few assassins to take out a few dealers.
The old pleasures don’t do it anymore.
Had to go to WH for photo op. Didn’t want P.T. to see me. Hid in the drapes and prayed “PLEASE don’t see me PLEASE don’t see me PLEASE…”
Been DAYS since the “Comey’s not around? Jesus, is that guy creepy, or what? With those puppy eyes, Mike, I’m telling you, I won’t leave you alone with any chicks, you don’t leave me alone with THAT guy. Spooky! Oh, hi, Jim. What the hell are you doing in the curtains, you weirdo?”
WH line rang today. Cleared my throat, took a sip of water. (Tap.) Acted all casual.
“Hello, Mr. Comey.” So formal! Before I could give it right back, he spoke again. That’s when I knew it wasn’t P.T.
“You keeping your resume current?” J.K. said, his voice cold, harsh. “He won’t be needing your services anymore,” he said, like a pirate ship boss discharging a cabin boy from service.
What a weird call! Oh, well, I’m sure it didn’t mean anything. I mean, P.T. asked if I wanted to stay on. That means I’m in like Flynn, right?
Peeked in the window. He was on the phone, talking policy. I listened.
“Yes, it all went splendidly… You got all the records in the hangar at the airport before the missiles hit, right? All traces shipped from Moscow to Syria, piled in that hangar….
“Of COURSE the evidence of our vote machine tampering scheme went up, I sent, like, forty-nine of them at it, for Christ’s sake, and not your Ukranian or Austrian pieces of junk, these things cost like five school lunch programs each! I know, but they weren’t gonna vote for me, anyway, who cares? No, only what’s her name, with the big hair, Waters. She suspects. Nah, she’s just too powerful, too smart, she’s considered the Einstein of the house. Or maybe the James Brown of the house, one of those science guys.”
He hung up, resting his remarkably normal-sized hands on the desk.
Shaken by this betrayal, I hurried back home.
Whoever could he have been talking to? I’ll ask the next time he has me over — I’m due for a call. It’s been weeks. No biggie — I’ve got a ten-year term, I ain’t going anywhere.
Note to self: Order more wiretapping stuff. And not that crappy Sam’s Choice junk like that budget-conscious P.O. forced us to get!
Text © 2017 by John Stephen Walsh