The dominant take on James Comey’s second indictment is that it’s laughable. Unprofessional. Beneath the dignity of serious law. A former FBI director charged with threatening the president’s life via a beach photo via seashells is the kind of thing that writes its own punchline. And the commentariat, with characteristic efficiency, has obliged. Legal analysts have lined up to note that the case is thin. The “86 47” language is ambiguous. That no serious prosecutor would bring this. That the whole spectacle is an embarrassment to the Justice Department.

That framing feels satisfying. It is also doing real damage to our ability to understand what is actually happening.

The case is weak, and that’s not the point.

There is a widespread assumption, inherited from decades of watching courtroom dramas and reading civics textbooks, that the purpose of a prosecution is to achieve a conviction. By that standard, the Comey indictment looks like a failure before it begins. The legal standard being invoked that a “reasonable recipient who is familiar with the circumstances” would interpret the seashell photo as a serious threat against the president is doing extraordinary juridical gymnastics. It essentially imports the paranoid interpretive framework of Trump World into the definition of reasonable perception. The circumstances have to be read through the eyes of someone who has spent years being told that Comey is a traitor, a deep-state operative, an enemy of the people. Reasonable, in this context, means: afraid and primed.

But here is the thing about legal weakness that the commentariat consistently misses. This is a feature of the government’s strategy, not a flaw.

Authoritarian prosecutorial logic, and we should be precise and unsentimental about using that term, does not primarily work by convicting its targets. It works by running them. By keeping opponents in legal jeopardy long enough to drain their resources, disrupt their organizations, and signal to everyone watching what the price of visibility might be. This is not a novel observation.

The FBI’s COINTELPRO program didn’t primarily function by imprisoning civil rights leaders. It functioned by making their lives expensive, exhausting, and uncertain. Martin Luther King Jr. was arrested dozens of times on charges that were often transparently pretextual. The specific charge almost never mattered. The accumulation did.

Comey is not King. This is not the Civil Rights era. But the mechanism is recognizable to anyone willing to look at it clearly, and calling the seashell indictment “ridiculous” is a way of refusing to look. It treats the absurdity of the pretext as evidence that the effort isn’t serious. In fact, the effort is extremely serious. The pretext is just lying on the beach, waiting to be picked up.

The trial is the punishment.

The seashells were never the point.

The paranoia is real, and that matters.

Here is the part of this conversation that nobody in polite media company wants to say, because saying it requires holding two uncomfortable things in your head at once.

The White House’s paranoia is not pure performance.

There have been multiple genuine, documented assassination attempts against this president. And four days before Comey’s indictment was unsealed, there was a shooting at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. It was the kind of event that, in living memory, was considered sacred neutral ground, a place where even the most bitter political antagonists showed up in black tie to trade jokes. That is the environment in which this administration is operating. So, the fear is real, and real fear, in the hands of people willing to use it as a legal battering ram, is extraordinarily dangerous.

This matters for understanding the Comey case because “86 47” carries a different meaning in that context.

You do not have to believe Comey intended a threat, and there is no credible reason to believe he did, to understand why a paranoid administration, with genuine reasons for its paranoia, reads it as one. Ambiguity, in an environment of real threat, gets weaponized. The interpretive leap from “beach photo” to “assassination signal” is absurd by normal standards, but normal standards are a luxury of calmer atmospheres. What the administration has done, with considerable legal sophistication, is construct a framework in which their paranoid reading becomes the legally operative standard of reasonableness, because enough people have been trained to share it.

This is the alchemy at the heart of the case, and almost nobody is talking about it. The legal commentary focuses on whether the case is weak. The political commentary focuses on whether Comey knew what “86 47” meant. Neither asks the more disturbing question: what does it mean that we live in a country where the president’s fear, however real, however justified, however instrumentalized, can be translated this efficiently into criminal charges against a private citizen for posting a beach photo?

The expert class and its protective mythology.

The commentariat’s instinct to call this ridiculous, unprofessional, and a departure from norms is not just analytically insufficient.

It is, in a quieter way, self-serving.

The professionalized expert class: the lawyers, the journalists, the former officials who populate cable panels and newsletter inboxes and congressional testimony, built its legitimacy on a particular story. The story is that the pre-Trump system was, on balance, clean, neutral, and principled. Staffed by serious people who took their obligations seriously. The guardrails held because the people inside the institutions believed in them. And Trump, in this telling, is an aberration — a corruption of something that was, before he arrived, essentially sound.

Calling the Comey indictment “ridiculous” is a way of defending that story. It’s a way of saying real institutions wouldn’t do this. This is what happens when the wrong people get hold of the machinery.

But real institutions do do this. They always have. The FBI that is now being used to chase Comey over seashells is the same FBI that tapped King’s phones, tried to blackmail him into suicide, and sent anonymous letters to his wife. The Justice Department that commentators are describing as “captured” today operated, for most of the 20th century, in ways that would curl the hair of anyone who believes in formal equality before the law. The expert class’s relationship to institutional power has always been selective in its outrage, troubled when the targets are recognizable, incurious when they aren’t.

Trump did not create the machinery of legal harassment. He pointed it in a different direction. The commentariat’s difficulty in processing this is not evidence of clear thinking. It is evidence of class loyalty dressed up as institutional concern.

What We Should Be Watching

So yes, note the legal absurdity. Appreciate the dark comedy of seashells as evidence in a federal threat case. Feel the appropriate contempt for the spectacle of Todd Blanche holding a press conference about beach formations with the gravity of a Nuremberg prosecutor.

But do not let the absurdity become a sedative.

The playbook does not require dignity. It requires repetition, resource exhaustion, and an audience too preoccupied with laughing at the pretexts to notice the architecture being assembled behind them. Every dismissed indictment that is followed by a new one teaches the same lesson, and it will keep coming. Every high-profile target prosecuted for ambiguous speech sends the same message to lower-profile people: imagine what we’ll do to you.

The question is not whether the seashell case will survive a First Amendment challenge. It probably won’t.

The question is what kind of country you are living in when the answer to that question has become a source of comfort rather than a reason for alarm. When “the courts will sort it out” has become the thing we tell ourselves to avoid confronting what is being sorted.

Comey said, in the video he posted to Substack after the indictment dropped: “I’m still innocent. I’m still not afraid. And I still believe in the independent federal judiciary, so let’s go.”

That’s a brave thing to say. It is also, right now, a significant act of faith.

The rest of us might consider spending less time on the seashells and more time asking whether that faith is being earned.

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The Oil Change

I was getting my oil changed when I first heard it.

A woman was talking to the mechanic about the shooting the night before, on Saturday, April 25th. The White House Correspondents’ Dinner at the Washington Hilton, where a gunman named Cole Tomas Allen had stormed a security checkpoint, fired at least one shot, and been tackled by Secret Service agents before President Trump, Melania, JD Vance, and the assembled cabinet could be harmed. One officer took a round to his bulletproof vest and walked away. Allen was in custody. A manifesto had been found.1

None of that was what the woman and the mechanic were talking about.

“It was staged,” she said, with the quiet confidence of someone sharing a recipe. The mechanic nodded, and then they moved on to something else.

I did not join in. I was not going to tell them they were wrong either. Partly because I had no standing, and partly because I wasn’t entirely sure what being wrong meant anymore in the particular epistemic climate we have managed to build for ourselves. I was there to listen and watch America metabolize the news the way it actually does, which is not in op-eds or cable chyrons, but in waiting rooms, at oil changes, and across the counters of places where people still talk to each other.

What I heard was not ignorance but a learned reflex. It was the sound of citizens who have been burned so many times by the official story that disbelief has become a form of self-defense, a proof of sophistication, and a way of saying, “I am not a fool.” Even when the thing you’re refusing to be fooled by turns out to be real.

The Reflex

I want to be careful here because there is no credible evidence that Saturday’s shooting was staged. A suspect with a documented manifesto, a cross-country train journey from California, and a brother who called the police about his radicalization minutes before the incident does not suggest choreography. It suggests tragedy of the ordinary kind, involving a disturbed man, a political atmosphere saturated in violence, and institutions only barely fast enough to stop what was coming.

And yet I don’t think we should be too quick to dismiss the impulse behind the conspiracy, not because the impulse is correct, but because it is diagnostic. When the same “STAGED” refrain that flooded social media after Butler, Pennsylvania, then floods it again eighteen months later (with barely a pause for reflection), then maybe we aren’t looking at a failure of individual reasoning. We are looking at a structural condition. Or put simply, a population does not develop a hair-trigger disbelief reflex by accident. It is trained into one, and that training has been going on for a long time.

The Playbook

Hannah Arendt, writing about the totalitarian movements of the twentieth century, observed something that has not aged a day. The goal of authoritarian propaganda is not to convince people of lies. It is to destroy the capacity to distinguish truth from lies at all and produce a citizenry so exhausted by contradiction, so practiced in cynicism, that it no longer feels obligated to try. The point is not the specific claim. The point is the habit of disbelief, which, once installed, serves power far more reliably than any single deception ever could.

This administration has not invented that playbook. But it has proven unusually fluent, and the reason is that it started with something real.

The centrist political establishment, or the bipartisan class of professionals who ran American institutions from roughly the end of the Cold War to the 2008 financial crisis, has handed its critics the gift of a long, well-documented record of deception dressed up as competence.

The Iraq War and its manufactured evidence.

The 2008 bailouts that rescued banks while families lost homes.

The trade agreements that were sold as prosperity and delivered as deindustrialization.

The gap between what official America said and what official America did became, over thirty years, a canyon.

Trumpism did not create that canyon. It simply set up a toll booth at the edge and charged admission.

This is the sleight of hand that makes the current epistemological crisis so hard to escape, because the critique of elite dishonesty is legitimate. The cure being offered a rival unreality, equally constructed, but rawer and more emotionally satisfying, is not.

We are being asked to choose between two kinds of fiction, and the one that tells us we are finally seeing clearly is the more dangerous one, because it feels like waking up.

The Archive

America has never been innocent of this dynamic. The archive of government deception is long and genuinely damning, which is exactly why it makes such good raw material for those who want to foreclose trust in institutions altogether.

After World War I, the Palmer Raids weaponized the fear of Bolshevism to jail immigrants, deport organizers, and remind anyone thinking about labor rights that the state had a long arm and a short temper. Socialists were imprisoned not for actions but for opinions. Eugene Debs received a ten-year sentence for a speech. The lesson was clear: dissent from the official story at your own risk.

Consider, closer to us, the Federal Housing Administration’s systematic redlining from the 1930s onward, a federal program officially dedicated to expanding homeownership that was, in practice, a mechanism for concentrating wealth in White suburbs and liquidating it from Black neighborhoods. The gap between the brochure and the policy was architectural and not accidental. The American government sold the idea of equal prosperity with one hand while engineering its opposite with the other, and it did so for decades before the evidence became undeniable.

The XYZ Affair, Iran-Contra, COINTELPRO, the Pentagon Papers — each of these is not just a historical scandal but a brick in the edifice of justified suspicion that the woman at the oil change is drawing on when she says staged with such quiet certainty. She is not paranoid but downstream of history. The problem is that being downstream of history does not make every flood accurate.

The Vacuum

Now consider what happens when you add to that history an administration that has made a studied practice of delegitimizing every institution capable of adjudicating between true and false. Corporate media, federal agencies, universities, and the judiciary have all been targeted not merely as opponents but as fabricators, conspirators, and a fraud.

When every institution that might verify reality is pre-emptively discredited, you do not produce a citizenry hungry for truth. You produce a citizenry that has given up on the category entirely.

Into that vacuum rushes whatever is most emotionally resonant, most tribally satisfying, most confirming of what the audience already suspects.

The “STAGED” reflex is not just a conspiracy theory. It is the logical terminus of a specific political project: the privatization of reality itself. When shared truth collapses, so does shared civic space, and when shared civic space collapses, so does the infrastructure of collective action.

You cannot organize around a problem you cannot agree exists.

You cannot demand accountability from institutions you believe are wholly captured.

You cannot vote your way out of a crisis if you believe the ballot is theater.

This is the question that should frighten us more than any single shooting, staged or otherwise: What happens to a democracy when its citizens can no longer imagine that they share a world?

The answer, historically, is not good. Atomization accelerates. People retreat into digital, geographic, and ideological communities, where reality is pre-sorted and delivered without friction. The commons shrinks, and civic participation, already battered, becomes something that happens to other people, in another country, in a civics textbook from a more innocent era. Trust in democratic infrastructure slides, and slides faster the more the underlying institutions confirm, through their own failures, the suspicions arrayed against them.

And those institutions do keep confirming. That is the cruelest part of this. The conspiracy theorists are not imagining the corruption. They are over-pattern-matching against a background of real corruption, real failures, real betrayals, and the over-correction lands them somewhere where those failures are impossible to fix, because every proposed fix is already discredited before it arrives.

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The Scaffolding

The woman at the oil change is not stupid. She is exhausted. She has learned, through a lifetime of official disappointments, that the first story is rarely the whole story. She has inherited a skepticism that was once healthy and has since curdled, because the institutions that might have vindicated it and said, “here is what is true, here is how we know, and here is the accountability we are demanding,” have been so thoroughly vilified that she no longer reads them.

What we need, and what is increasingly hard to imagine producing, is not an end to skepticism but a rebuilt scaffolding for it. Institutions that are transparently accountable rather than performatively authoritative. A media that investigates rather than adjudicates identity. A political culture that treats civic engagement as something other than the hobby of people with time and advanced degrees.

Without that, we will keep meeting at the oil change, shaking our heads at the latest outrage or the latest hoax, unable to tell which is which, and the seam of shared American life will keep pulling apart, thread by thread, until one day we reach for it and find that it is gone.

1

The Washington Hilton has now hosted two assassination attempts in forty-five years, with Reagan in 1981 and Trump in 2026. Both suspects had manifestos, and both acted alone. Make of that symmetry what you will. History tends to rhyme not because it is poetic, but because the conditions that produce desperation are remarkably consistent, and we are remarkably consistent in failing to address them.

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Pundit Talk

On a recent episode of his podcast, with his brother Buckley Carlson as a guest, Tucker Carlson apologized for supporting Trump. He’s now publicly against the sitting president over the Iran war policy and the administration’s support for Israel. At least, for now. One of Trump’s reluctant supporters, who, we learned from the Fox-Dominion lawsuit text messages, never took Trump seriously in the first place, is now openly breaking with him.

Mainstream pundits have reached for the horse-race playbook and suggested that the Trump spell is breaking. Katie Couric floated that possibility in her conversation with Jonathan V. Last and Bill Kristol. She also wondered whether career military officials at the Pentagon are alarmed about the administration’s foreign policy. I take a darker view of the American military machine. Career officers opposed Trump’s Syria withdrawal and quietly cheered the Soleimani strike; so they’ll likely welcome a war with Iran. The Pentagon sides with democracy when it’s convenient for the Pentagon, not out of republican virtue. I was more aligned with Last, who wasn’t convinced at all. He asked whether this is another version of what we saw after January 6th, when the GOP scurried back to Trump after briefly pretending to have standards.

The Bulwark

Katie Couric LIVE on Trump's AWFUL Polls, GOP's Gerrymander Faceplant, WHCD Drama

Katie Couric is joining JVL and Bill Kristol to talk about Trump's dismal approval polling, the GOP's failed attempt to gain an edge in the House via gerrymandering, and the upcoming White House Correspondents Dinner…

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6 days ago · 570 likes · 76 comments · William Kristol, Jonathan V. Last, and Katie Couric

A New Lost Cause

What Couric misses isn’t political momentum. It’s the mythological architecture Trump has built, and that architecture has deep American roots.

Her analysis, respectfully, seemed optimistically oblivious to the world Republican mythmaking has cultivated over decades. The GOP has painted the Democratic Party as amoral communists hellbent on attacking White Americans through the language of equality and diversity. Decades of bad-faith, politically opportunistic attacks have created fertile ground for an authoritarian movement tapping into long-held American weaknesses around White supremacist ideology, misogynistic spectacle, and religious bigotry.

That was a choice.

And the GOP made it in the post-Civil Rights years when it became an organization trafficking in segregationist code words. In doing so, it inherited the political geography of the post-Reconstruction Redeemers, or Southern Democrats who rebuilt their party around white supremacy through literacy tests, grandfather clauses, and paramilitary violence.

The Southern Strategy was the Redeemer project with the party labels swapped.

So when anyone suggests that a short-term Trump wobble might unravel all of this, I have to ask what history they’ve been reading. White voters accepted a gutted social safety net for half a century as the price of racial hierarchy. A Carlson podcast isn’t going to undo that.

The problem is also bigger than the old bargain. Trump manufactured a new Lost Cause myth, one in which American minorities and their alliances (both domestic and abroad) stole the 2020 election from him. The GOP refused to draw a red line around the chicanery, lying, and demagoguery. Trump returned to power despite every institutional weight being leveraged against him. And now a substantial bloc of America believes 2020 was stolen and Trump is the anti-hero of a thoroughly corrupt system.

Here’s why the historical analogy matters. The original Lost Cause took a full generation to build and over a century to partially dismantle. The first Confederate monuments were erected between the 1890s and 1920s by the United Daughters of the Confederacy and codified in the academy by the Dunning School, which was dramatized by Thomas Dixon and The Birth of a Nation, and then eventually baked into public school textbooks from Mississippi to Maine. Most of them didn’t come down until after 2015 (and some resurrected). That’s a hundred-plus-year lifecycle for a mythology built to flatter the losers of a war. If Trump’s election-theft narrative has even half that staying power, the idea that a podcast apology unwinds it is, historically speaking, cute.

That kind of narrative, once lodged in the minds of a plurality of Americans, survives news cycles. It survives polling with its own sampling and framing errors. And it keeps enough Americans loyal to Trump that middle-of-the-road swing voters will stay reluctant to seriously challenge the Trumpian revolution unfolding around them.

We are only six years into a decade that started with a successful lie about American democracy, backed by White supremacist pageantry, and led to a violent assault on the Capitol, where Confederate flags flew on the lawn. We haven’t yet metabolized what that election did to the American psyche, or how it eviscerated the old narrative playbook. This is where I find Last’s analysis refreshing despite my many disagreements with him regarding neoliberalism and neoconservatism.

At least he’s attempting to tap into the structural darkness that may not sell a brand, but can tell the true history of a nation built on empire, exploitation, slavery, and marketing myths.

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There are four dark truths about the American public that the approval-rating industrial complex cannot metabolize without dismantling itself:

The first is that American politics has always been exp…

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I’ve been a little sour on the pundit optimism around the 2026 midterms. Maybe it’s because we’ve been through this rodeo before, the Democratic House being pushed to impeach the president the last time they won a midterm in the Trump era, watching that constitutional mechanism rendered useless by the partisanship o…

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Author’s Note: This is a compilation of my thoughts, notes, and reading as I have debated that conservatism in the American context was inevitably going to produce Trumpism, even when a significant portion of the pro-democracy coalition seems to argue against that notion, despite the historical throughlines.

I. …

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Republicans were relieved. Not angry, not ashamed, not moved to any particular reckoning, but relieved. You know, like the way you feel when a car alarm finally stops. The president of the United States had posted an AI-generated image of himself in Jesus garb on Truth Social, and when he took it down, his …

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The reception to Viktor Orbán’s loss in Hungary has been treated as a seismic shift, and in narrow terms, it is. He reigned for 16 consecutive years. He systematically restructured Hungary’s electoral maps, judicial appointments, and media landscape to entrench his …

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Ever since The Bulwark has been, as Sarah Longwell described on X, “kicking the DSA hornet’s nest,” there has been a wave of internecine debate within the broader pro-democracy coalition. Some are openly asking how…

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In this episode of Reality Checking the Bulwark, Steward Beckham and I examine tweets from Sarah Longwell and Tim Miller. First, Longwell reacts to a Mike Pence clip, arguing that Trump is a break from the Republican Party – no matter how much the GOP’s former Vice President and political history suggest otherwise.

Then Miller responds to Michigan Senate Democratic primary candidate Abdul El-Sayed’s tweet blaming AIPAC-aligned politicians for escalating gas prices in Michigan. Miller cries “misinformation,” but we wonder whether his own message is the actual misinformation.

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Reality Checking the Bulwark - Episode 8

REALITY CHECKING THE BULWARK – EPISODE 8

Sunday, April 12 at 2pm EST / 11am PST

LIVE Sunday April 12 at 2pm EST

Previously on Stew On This:

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There has been a wave of backlash over the people who attended or praised Ye’s recent Los Angeles concerts, and Pepsi’s decision to pull its sponsorship from Wireless Festival in the United Kingdom after his booking as a headliner was the right one. Ye has disgraced himself and others thr…

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Sarah Longwell takes the opposite view, effectively arguing that Hasan should be pushed outside the Democratic tent while leaning on all too familiar right-wing critiques rather than engaging directly with his broader commentary. The backlash to her position has been swift and lopsided, especially as Hasan Piker responded in real time on his HasanReacts YouTube feed, reframing the exchange for an audience far beyond traditional political media.

Evan and I use this moment to explore what it reveals about the shifting centers of power inside the Democratic coalition, and who actually holds the audience now.

Talked about in the show:

• “Is Hasan Piker Toxic…or Gettable” -The Bulwark, April 3, 2026

• “Tim Miller SHUTS DOWN Sarah Longwell Defending Hasan” -HasanAbi Reacts, April 3, 2026

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Thank you , , , , , , and many others for tuning into my live video with ! Join me for my next live video in the app.

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Get the app

A reader, sharp and unflinchingly, offered a stark thesis: in American politics, a party often feels forced to choose. Court the White vote and risk losing the Black vote, or anchor yourself with Black voters and accept erosion elsewhere. It sounds cynical, but the data gives it teeth. Since the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Democrats have rarely won a majority of White voters, a realignment that still hums beneath everything we see today.

That tension sits at the edge of this piece, one of the final notes, not the opening chord.

Along the way, I move through a series of fault lines, such as the Supreme Court’s ruling against conversion therapy, the widening shadow of the Iran conflict, and the slow, uneasy erosion of American soft power. And threading through it all is a question the Democratic Party can’t keep dodging: why, in moments of crisis, it still turns back toward the architects of Reaganism and the inheritors of Trumpism, rather than the voters who have carried the party since its coalition was remade in the upheavals of the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s.

It’s not just a strategy problem.

It’s a story about memory, power, and who a party believes it actually belongs to.

Thank you , , , , , and many others for tuning into my live video! Join me for my next live video in the app.

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At this moment, the Trump administration is unpopular. We are currently in a war with Iran that is spreading catastrophe like a contagion across the global economy and diplomatic order. The ICE raids and th…

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No Kings was a good development. I don’t want anyone to think I believe otherwise. In an article I published on Saturday, I may not have made it clear enough that I am with many other Americans in asking a simple question: Now what?

I decided to go to th…

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I’m not especially excited about the “No Kings” protest. Still, I want to give it the weight it deserves, especially for the people organizing, for those showing up, for the stubborn insistence that public action still matters.

But after nearly a decade immersed in political comm…

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Here is Wehner’s article in The Atlantic (I read a large portion of the article without the paywall in this episode).

Drawing from history, lived experience, and the long arc of racial politics in America, we explore how hierarchy, exclusion, and respectability have always been entangled, and how today’s political discourse still gives those dynamics cover by insisting that Trump is the exception rather than the exposure.

I also draw on my November 12, 2025, article, which asks whether the media’s obsession with debating “true conservatism” amounted to wasted time. Time that could have been spent directly naming the threats to our rights, no matter how uncomfortable that truth might be for those who helped shape this moment.

Thank you , , , , , and many others for tuning into my live video! Join me for my next live video in the app.

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I have been suffering from a minor case of writer’s block. Not because there isn’t anything to say, there is too much to say. Politics hums like a broken machine, history repeats its darker refrains, and the news cycle demands we relive it all in real time. It is not silence that stalls the writer, but the exhaustion …

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Across Republican and Democratic administrations, American foreign policy has produced a sequence of disasters abroad. The anti-Trump conservative analysis attempts to reckon with these failed policies but often falls short of metabolizing the political impacts of neoconservative disasters past and present. The cardinal misstep – treating President Trump as a departure from American imperial tradition rather than another expression of it – continues to taint otherwise thoughtful review.

In a March 9 episode of the flagship Bulwark Podcast, Tim Miller and Sarah Longwell reveal some of the early political influences and cultural propaganda that shaped their worldviews – a self-examination we respect and admire. Credit where credit is due, yet Miller and Longwell still fail to appreciate some of the tectonic drivers of these policies – and more crucially, how unpopular policies have galvanized public opinion and redrawn the political landscape.

Steward Beckham and I took some time to dig deep into this episode, Sarah Longwell: No One Should Trust this Government, which exemplifies this anti-Trump conservative phenomenon when applied to the current war on Iran and Lebanon. Enjoy.

The next episode of Reality Checking The Bulwark will air today at 2 PM EST/11 PM PST on Substack Live!

Previously on Stew On This: