Or Spicer and his bushes.

I don’t. If this is the worst he has to deal with for helping get this fucker elected, then he is lucky.

Yes confused indeed. The Bush’s, now Comey. It’s fucking weird.

The classic sign of the showboat, the “holy shit I want to be literally anywhere other than here right now” face.

I’m living on mostly rice, these days, but still subscribe to the New Yorker.

I really do suspect that at least half of what’s behind this is that Trump can’t stand the idea of working with a man who’s a head taller than he is.

It’s never occurred to me that I could call all the Bens/Benjamins etc I know “Jamin” (pronounced as in “jammin’ party”, right?) but now that’s all I will ever call them again.

On one leg, wearing fishnets. Probably fits right into Trump’s decorating scheme TBH.

That’s scary, since we know Putin drills Trump (no they) in the ass on a weekly basis.

Pro-tip: Calling people by nicknames that they neither use nor have invited you to use comes across as sleezy used car salesman tactics at best, and presumptuous and passive-aggressive at worst.

In federal prison, hopefully.

This is like what I do when I’m drunk at a bar and don’t feel like talking to a random guy. I either try to hide behind someone taller than me or act like they’re talking to one of my friends. It never works. I always get found out.

This is so funny it almost makes me like James Comey. It’s a confusing feeling.

Obviously the more effective strategy would have been to wear a lampshade on his head and stand very still.

6-foot-8 dude hiding in the curtains, or anywhere for that matter. This has to be a script for a political farce, but I ain’t laughing.

New Yorker just came in the mail.

I think Comey would’ve preferred being taken for a “fishing trip” at this point to be honest.

When Putin finally finds where Trump’s hidden the nuke codes.