This POS Richard Luscombe thinks he’s safe in his Bolshevik cocoon. He isn’t.
He has no idea what is headed his way. By this day next year, the world as he knows it will be over, finished, caput.
And then begins the trial, judgement and verdict of his ilk.
From your lips to God's ears, but I suspect we'll have a much longer time frame before such things happen, and we'll be marching through Hell in the meantime, hopefully without the awful mistake of having Nikki Fried or Charlie Crist as governor.