Comey’s Conversations Have More Layers Than A Villain’s Monologue

In a realm filled with courteous monsters and terrifying lawmen, I’d select the cannibal who enjoys fine Bach over the G-man who shamelessly undermines the constitution. One of them, at least, has standards. If I find myself in a room with a notorious sociopath—an unfortunate reality of contemporary existence—I’d choose the one likely to serve my liver with a splendid Amarone, rather than the one who exchanges liberty for a self-righteous press briefing. This contrasts Dr. Hannibal Lecter with Mr. James Comey. Lecter’s expectations are straightforward: respect during dinner and an aversion to poor performances of Mozart. His malevolence possesses a savage integrity, valuing taste deeply. Comey, on the other hand, emerges as America’s contrived moral authority, engaging audiences with stark legalism—turning a blind eye to actual injustices. While Lecter consumes with authenticity, Comey devours trust and integrity, suffocating the very essence of justice. In this dichotomy, I gravitate toward the monster with a code. Just ensure I don’t have to perform on the cello.