Comey’s Hail Mary: The Gospel According to a Fallen FBI Saint

Comey’s legal team argues he’s being “retaliated against” for his speech—because nothing says “free speech” like leaking classified memos to manipulate a Special Counsel appointment. If that’s protected speech, then Hunter Biden’s iCloud should be in the Smithsonian as an example of First Amendment heroism.

The Charges

Comey’s two charges—lying to Congress and obstructing a congressional proceeding—are the bureaucratic version of “we caught you with your hand in the cookie jar and your fingerprints on the jar lid.” The man practically wrote the manual on duplicity. Remember, this is the same guy who told America Hillary Clinton broke the law but didn’t mean to. Apparently, “intent” matters when you’re politically useful.

Now, as Comey pleads not guilty, he wants the judge to believe Trump’s personal spite somehow manifested itself into a federal indictment. His lawyers are spinning this like a bad episode of Law & Order: Deep State Unit. They argue that Trump’s “vindictiveness” is the motive for Comey’s prosecution. Of course, no mention of the actual crimes—just feelings. The Left loves feelings; they’re allergic to facts.

“There are costs to standing up to Donald Trump.” – Crooked Comey

Oh, please. The only cost Comey’s feeling is the invoice from his $2,000-an-hour D.C. lawyers. If this were truly retaliation, every Deep State operative who’s ever whispered “resistance” into a CNN microphone would be in a holding cell next to Michael Avenatti.

As John McClane said in Die Hard, “Welcome to the party, pal!” Comey finally gets a taste of what real Americans have endured for years—being targeted by a corrupt bureaucracy for daring to defy the ruling elite. The difference? He’s not innocent.

Let’s be real. Comey knows two things with absolute certainty:

1. He’s not being targeted.

2. He’s guilty as sin.

This isn’t political persecution; it’s poetic justice. And it’s long overdue.

Comey has been lying so long, he probably thinks it’s cardio. He lied to Congress, to the American people, and to himself—though the last one might qualify as a mental health disorder. When he was FBI Director, he strutted around like a man who’d read too much scripture and too few indictments. He had that sanctimonious smirk, the kind only possessed by people who believe God personally appointed them to lecture others on ethics while committing felonies in the background.

The man practically invented his own dialect—Comey-speak.

It’s the language of bureaucratic evasion. “I don’t recall,” “It wasn’t my intent,” “I acted within established norms”—it’s swamp Esperanto. But in Trump’s America, that doublespeak doesn’t fly anymore. The new Department of Justice isn’t run by partisan weasels with a media fan club. It’s run by people who actually enforce the law, not interpret it like a gender studies syllabus.

Now, Comey’s playing his last card—hoping for a friendly Obama or Biden judge who still sees him as Saint James of the Swamp. He wants his case tossed faster than CNN’s ratings after the Trump mugshot. But the clock is ticking, and he knows it.

I can see Comey sitting in his multimillion-dollar Virginia mansion, surrounded by legal documents. He’s using burner phones to call in old favors. Also, he’s dialing up his co-conspirators—McCabe, Strzok, or Page—to try to get their stories straight while secretly recording them to secure a potential “get out of jail free” card.

We already know his next brilliant move: hire one of his own partners in crime as defense counsel. That’s not a legal strategy; that’s a confession in business attire.

Meanwhile, Trump’s team is executing, giving a sermon in accountability.

These prosecutions aren’t about revenge; they’re about restoration. They’re the counterstrike to a decade of corruption that turned the FBI from America’s top law enforcement agency into a glorified political hit squad.

Trump understands something the Left never did: winning happens in two arenas—the court of law and the court of public opinion. In both, Comey is getting trounced. He’s gone from the high priest of “truth and integrity” to a punchline. His book deals and MSNBC interviews won’t save him from the reality that justice—real justice—doesn’t care about your former title.

So what’s next for Comey? He’ll keep punting.

When his Hail Mary falls incomplete, he’ll try to delay. He’ll beg for procedural reviews, technical dismissals, and any loophole that keeps him out of orange jumpsuit territory. But the problem with punting is eventually you run out of downs.

The irony here is delicious: the man who once manipulated the justice system to protect his political allies is now begging that same system for mercy. And just like his “no reasonable prosecutor” speech about Hillary Clinton, the Comey defense will collapse under the weight of its own hypocrisy.

There’s no “selective prosecution” here—just selective amnesia from a man who believed he’d never face consequences. His fall from grace is not just personal—it’s symbolic. It’s the death rattle of the old D.C. establishment that thought it could bully, leak, and lie its way through the Trump era.

Comey’s final act is playing out exactly as it should: on a stage he built, under lights he turned on, and with the same self-righteousness that blinded him to his own corruption.

So, James—say your Hail Marys, toss a few Our Fathers in for good measure, and get comfortable. Because the choir of accountability is warming up, and this time, you’re not conducting.