We need garlic, sunlight, and some injunctions because there’s a fascist lawyer who lurks in the West Wing

Republicans have long serenaded the 10th Amendment, extolling “states’ rights” whenever Washington overreaches—except, it seems, when Donald Trump is the one doing the overreaching. Under Trump’s leadership, the party of “small government” suddenly found big federal power quite convenient. From immigration crackdowns to quashing local dissent, Trump’s administration has routinely bulldozed state autonomy in pursuit of its agenda, leaving a trail of legal battles and ironic hypocrisy.

In his second term, President Trump’s mantra appears to be “l’état, c’est moi,” – a quote from one of the highest Louis’ in French history – with GOP-friendly principles tossed aside whenever they prove inconvenient. As one columnist wryly observed, Trump has been bringing “rebellious” states to heel, regardless of the hash it makes of many decades of Republican “states’ rights” rhetoric.

In this Mostly Lawful deep dive, we’ll examine how Trump (abetted by his most ghoulish advisor, Stephen Miller – basically Trump’s Count Dracula with a law degree and a hate for due process) has clashed with legal limits and states’ prerogatives—earning sharp rebukes from courts, generals, and even some conservatives.

Strap in for a journey through Trump’s federalist faceplant, complete with case law, statutory showdowns, vampires, and a healthy dose of dry wit.

Sanctuary Cities Showdown: Trump vs. the Tenth Amendment

One of the earliest fronts in Trump’s war on state and local independence was his crusade against “sanctuary” cities and states. Sanctuary jurisdictions limit cooperation with federal immigration enforcement, a stance rooted in the constitutional principle that the feds cannot commandeer state officials to do their bidding.

Despite what Stephen “Nosferatu” Miller thinks, that principle isn’t some left-wing fever dream; it’s grounded in Supreme Court decisions like New York v. United States (1992) and Printz v. United States (1997), where conservative justices held that the 10th Amendment “bans federal ‘commandeering’ of state governments,” meaning state and local authorities can’t be forced to enforce federal law. In fact, the anti-commandeering doctrine was reaffirmed as recently as 2018 in a case called Murphy v. NCAA, making clear that Washington can’t conscript or coerce states into carrying out federal directives.

None of this deterred Trump. Mere days into his first term, he signed an executive order threatening to strip federal funds from sanctuary cities. It was a bold move, but a legally baseless one. In April 2017, Judge William Orrick (N.D. Cal.) blocked the order, finding that the plaintiffs (San Francisco and Santa Clara County) were likely to succeed on claims that Trump’s diktat violated separation of powers, the Spending Clause, and even the Tenth Amendment. Judge Orrick’s injunction noted the order exceeded presidential authority by usurping Congress’s power of the purse and attempting to “coerce” states in defiance of constitutional limits. The Ninth Circuit later agreed that Trump’s sanctuary-city order trampled core constitutional rules, particularly by trying to cut off funds without Congress’s approval.

In plain English? A president can’t just unilaterally punish states and cities for refusing to be immigration deputies. (Not that this stopped Trump from fuming on Twitter about “so-called” judges whenever he lost in court. States’ rights are great until a state dares to disagree with him, apparently.)

Fast forward to 2025: A newly re-elected Trump doubled down. On April 28, 2025, he issued yet another executive order, grandiosely titled “Protecting American Communities from Criminal Aliens.” It directs Attorney General Pam Bondi and DHS to compile an official blacklist of sanctuary jurisdictions and even threatens to terminate federal grants and contracts for those on the list.

In a twist worthy of an Orwell novel, the order also commands the Attorney General to “take appropriate action” against any state or local laws that “violate, obstruct, and defy” federal immigration law.

The message was clear: comply with Trump’s immigration crackdown or face the wrath of Washington. Never mind that jurisdictions often have sanctuary policies as state law, and an executive order doesn’t magically override duly-enacted state legislation.

This latest salvo came just days after a federal judge (again) slapped down the administration’s attempt to withhold funds from 16 jurisdictions over immigration policy. Judge Orrick—yes, him again!—pointed out that precedent was on the cities’ side, citing his own 2017 ruling in San Francisco v. Trump and the well-worn constitutional rule that the Spending Clause gives Congress, not the president, control over federal funding.

So, Trump’s people still hadn’t learned their lesson about basic civics.

Executive branch lawyers, especially Stephen Miler, here’s a pro tip: if you want to punish sanctuary cities, try persuading Congress, not writing royal decrees from the Oval Office.

Sanctuary policies stand on firm constitutional grounds. And as one analysis noted, “state and local governments can’t be coerced into doing the federal government’s work of immigration enforcement.” Courts have repeatedly affirmed that states have the authority to decide how to use their own law enforcement resources. The Trump administration’s attempts to blur the line between “non-cooperation” (which is lawful) and “obstruction” (which can be prosecuted) haven’t convinced many judges. The administration even floated prosecuting local officials for “harboring” if they implement sanctuary policies – a dramatic escalation that raised eyebrows.

In December 2024, a conservative organization led by Trump adviser Stephen Miller sent letters to California leaders warning of “serious consequences” over sanctuary policies that protect undocumented residents. Then, in January 2025, the new Acting Assistant Attorney General sent a memo to prosecutors throughout the Justice Department asserting that “the Supremacy Clause and other authorities require state and local actors to comply with the Executive Branch’s enforcement initiatives,” and that “federal law prohibits state and local actors from resisting, obstructing, and otherwise failing to comply with lawful immigration-related commands and requests.”

These are all lies. One could almost hear James Madison face-palming from the great beyond.

The law on the subject is quite clear, although the Justice Department memo purposely fails to cite the controlling cases. Sanctuary laws aren’t some coastal fever dream—they exist at the state, county, and municipal levels across the country. While they vary in scope and detail, their core function is pretty consistent: they place limits on how, when, or if local and state officials cooperate with federal immigration enforcement. California’s Values Act is a textbook example. Since 2017, that law has prohibited state and local officials from doing things like “[i]nquiring into an individual’s immigration status,” “[d]etaining an individual” at ICE’s request (those are called “immigration detainers”), or “[p]roviding information regarding a person’s release date” from custody. There are carve-outs for serious offenses, but for our purposes—and for Trump’s ire—they’re beside the point.

Naturally, the first Trump administration tried to sue California into submission, arguing that the law violated the Supremacy Clause.

It didn’t.

The Ninth Circuit upheld the statute, the Supreme Court declined to hear the case, and the DOJ quietly filed that defeat away in its drawer of lost culture-war crusades. Sanctuary laws like California’s have been around for decades and, inconveniently for the “lock them up” crowd, have consistently survived constitutional scrutiny.

Behind the scenes of this sanctuary showdown was, of course, Stephen Miller, gleefully fanning the flames. Miller has been the ideological force behind Trump’s hardest-line immigration moves, effectively serving as the Architect-in-Chief of the administration’s crackdowns. It was Miller who reportedly helped craft the first “travel ban” executive order in 2017, then sneered at the judges who blocked it. (More on that in a moment.) It was Miller who pushed Trump to adopt the infamous “zero tolerance” policy that ripped thousands of children from their parents at the border. And when cities and states refused to assist these draconian measures, Miller saw an affront to be punished. If “states’ rights” had to be steamrolled to achieve his vision, so be it.

Stephen “Nosferatu” Miller: The Count Dracula of Constitutional Contortions Behind the Lawlessness

Left: Stephen Miller, Trump’s top legal adviser. Right: Count Orlok, a fictional vampire who feeds on the lifeblood of innocents. 
Only one of them ever tried to suspend habeas corpus. The other just stuck to sucking blood.

Any discussion of Trump-era lawlessness would be incomplete without a brief spotlight on Stephen Miller; a vampiric figure draining life from civil liberties while cloaked in legalisms. A “man-pire” whose own uncle once called him an immigration hypocrite, and whom others have less charitably dubbed the spiritual heir to 1920s eugenics policy.

A few highlights from this vampire’s worldview are helpfully catalogued in Jean Guerrero’s book Hate Monger: Stephen Miller, Donald Trump, and the White Nationalist Agenda. As a teenager, Miller reportedly ended a friendship with a classmate because the classmate was Latino. Later, at his own high school, he told Mexican American students to “speak only English,” complained that a Chicano student group wanted to “reclaim California,” and declared to a school equality committee that “racism does not exist—it’s in your imagination.” He also railed against bilingual education, Spanish-language announcements, and even Cinco de Mayo celebrations. And in what would become a signature moment of performative cruelty, Miller once argued at a school assembly that students shouldn’t have to clean up after themselves because “we have plenty of janitors who are paid to do it for us.” The Count Dracula of Constitutional Contortions had clearly begun rehearsing very early.

Miller’s approach to governance often seemed to channel an adage of dubious origin: “He who saves the country does not violate any law.” President Trump himself once echoed that sentiment, reportedly proclaiming that whatever actions he takes are justified by the grand cause of national survival. Miller, as Trump’s right-hand ideologue, operationalized that mindset into policy, with plenty of collateral damage to the rule of law.

Consider Miller’s astonishing assertion in February 2017, when courts first froze Trump’s “Muslim ban.” Appearing on CBS’s Face the Nation, Miller lashed out at the judiciary and warned that “the powers of the president to protect our country are very substantial and will not be questioned.”

“Will not be questioned?“ Jeez. Someojne woke up on the wrong side of the coffin. Get me some garlic, sunlight, silver, and Prof. van Helsing’s email!

When Stephen Miller hears someone say 
“due process.” (The Count of 
Constitutional Contortions awakens to draft 
another illegal executive order.)

In America, even kings get questioned – and Trump, newsflash, isn’t a king (Yet?). Miller’s declaration prompted an outcry (and probably a celebratory fist-pump from any dictators tuning in). It also perfectly encapsulated the administration’s contempt for checks and balances.

The federal judges blocking the travel ban had dared to do their job, and Miller’s response was effectively: How dare you! We’re above the law. His exact words above (“will not be questioned”) were dripping with authoritarian disdain. Dry wit aside, one has to admire the honesty; most officials at least pretend to respect judicial review, but Miller said the quiet part out loud.

And if there were any doubts Miller was committed to sucking the life out of constitutional norms, he made it crystal clear during Trump’s second term. In May 2025 Miller stated that the administration was “actively looking” at suspending habeas corpus, the constitutionally-protected mechanism detainees use to challenge unlawful detention, by declaring a domestic “invasion” at the southern border.

That’s right—Miller was ready to shred one of the oldest cornerstones of Anglo-American liberty, dating back to the Magna Carta. The Trump White House floated invoking Article I, Section 9’s Suspension Clause, which allows suspension “when in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety may require it.” But here, the “invasion” was rhetorical—a political fiction, not a military threat. The backlash was swift, but revealing. For Miller, due process was always an obstacle to be bypassed, not a right to be protected.

This kind of thinking isn’t just radical, it’s legally illiterate.

Courts have consistently ruled that habeas corpus applies to both citizens and non-citizens within U.S. jurisdiction. In Boumediene v. Bush (2008), the Supreme Court held that even detainees at Guantanamo Bay had a constitutional right to habeas review. For Miller to suggest suspending it domestically to expedite deportations isn’t just lawless, it’s gothic. The Count Dracula of Constitutional Contortions, indeed.

Miller’s zeal for maximum enforcement also led to some truly grotesque policies. The most notorious was the family separation saga, in which a Business Insider report confirmed Miller was the driving force behind. Thousands of migrant children were taken from their parents as a “deterrent,” until global outrage and court orders forced the administration to reverse course. Miller’s fingerprints were on the relentless efforts to slash refugee admissions to near-zero and to end asylum as we know it.

In one tell-all book, a former Trump aide recounted Miller bragging that “I would be happy if not a single refugee foot ever again touched American soil.”.

Let that quote sink in.

While the Statue of Liberty might weep, Stephen Miller would pop champagne if America shut its doors to the world’s most desperate. It’s a quote so chillingly Grinch-like that even the White House, when confronted, tried to deny Miller ever said it. But multiple sources confirm the remark, and frankly it aligns with Miller’s immigration ethos.

Miller’s influence extended beyond immigration. After Trump lost the 2020 election, it was Miller who hit the airwaves to promote the fantastical scheme of overturning state-certified results with fake “alternate electors.”

On December 14, 2020 (the day the real Electoral College met), Miller went on Fox News to announce that “an alternate slate of electors in contested states is going to vote and we’re going to send those results up to Congress” in hopes of swiping victory from Joe Biden. Never mind that neither the Constitution nor any law allows such an alternate electors gambit. Miller was happy to ignore centuries of practice in service of Trump.

(Fun fact: The last time someone tried competing electors was in 1876, and even then, it took a special commission to sort out the mess. Miller’s plan in 2020 had zero legal footing; it was basically a coup de cosplay.)

This episode underscores Miller’s approach: if the law or the states get in your way, just conjure a way around them, no matter how brazen or baseless. He constructed a parallel reality where the only law that mattered was Trump’s will.

Deploying Troops on “Rebellious” States: The California National Guard Fiasco

If Trump and Miller were willing to defy courts and rewrite rules, why not also override a governor and send in the troops? In June 2025, Trump reached for a blunt instrument rarely used in modern American history: federalizing the National Guard over a state’s objection.

Specifically, he ordered National Guard units into Los Angeles amid ongoing immigration-related protests, despite California Governor Gavin Newsom emphatically not requesting or wanting such assistance. To grasp how extreme this is, note that it was the first time in 60 years a president deployed the National Guard to a state against the governor’s wishes.

The last instances were during the civil rights era, when Presidents Eisenhower and Kennedy sent troops to enforce desegregation over defiant segregationist governors. It’s bitterly ironic: Trump, a Republican, used a tactic historically employed to uphold constitutional rights, but in this case to impose his own crackdown on a progressive state.

The response to Trump’s L.A. adventure was swift and scathing. Retired Major General Randy Manner, former acting vice chief of the National Guard Bureau, publicly blasted the move as “inappropriate” and dangerous. He warned that “the President’s deployment of the National Guard over the official wishes of the governor is bad for all Americans concerned about freedom of speech and states’ rights. … This is an inappropriate use of the National Guard and is not warranted.”

When a career military leader feels compelled to rebuke a commander-in-chief for trampling states’ rights, you know something is off the rails. Even the Center for American Progress (hardly a right-wing outfit) noted the deep contradiction with Republican orthodoxy: using armed forces to bring a “rebellious” state to heel makes a mockery of decades of GOP “states’ rights” rhetoric. One can imagine the ghost of Barry Goldwater clutching his pearls.

Legally, Trump’s action raised eyebrows as well. Normally, domestic deployment of troops is governed by the Posse Comitatus Act and the Insurrection Act of 1807. The Insurrection Act allows a president to use federal forces to suppress insurrections or domestic violence under certain conditions (for example, if a state is unable or unwilling to protect civil rights). Historically, it’s been invoked to enforce federal civil rights (again, Little Rock 1957, Ole Miss 1962, etc.), not to muscle in on a state handling its own protests.

In Los Angeles, the ostensible justification was to quell disturbances related to ICE raids. But local authorities, including the LAPD, reported that things were largely under control and protesters were “mostly peaceful.” Governor Newsom did not request federal intervention. By barreling in anyway, Trump arguably overstepped the intended use of these laws. It certainly wasn’t a scenario of a state refusing to enforce federal law (California law enforcement wasn’t in rebellion; they simply weren’t cracking down as harshly as Trump wanted). This was more a case of the president contriving an “emergency” to justify asserting control.

The result? A tense situation escalated into chaos: thousands poured into the streets in outrage, and clashes intensified rather than abated. It’s a classic Trump move: throw fuel on the fire, then claim you’re the only one who can put it out.

One has to marvel at the situational federalism on display. If a Democratic president had deployed troops to, say, a conservative state over that governor’s objections, the cries of “tyranny!” and “states’ rights!” would deafen the ears. Yet here, many Republicans cheered Trump on, proving that for some, principles bend when political enemies are the target. Indeed, Trump officials like former ICE director Tom Homan openly threatened to have federal agents arrest California officials who impeded immigration raids. The spectacle of a U.S. president menacing a state with arresting its leaders – again, over immigration policy disputes – is something out of a bad political thriller. The fact that it was cheered in certain quarters shows the triumph of Trumpism over traditional federalism. The GOP of old touted local control; Trump’s GOP seems to prefer total control by Trump.

Trump’s Total Authority Complex (and the Courts Strike Back)

Trump and Miller’s disdain for state authority is really just one facet of a broader worldview: that nothing should curb Presidential power. Trump is a man who literally said (no doubt, taking cue from Miller):

“When somebody’s the president of the United States, the authority is total… It’s total.”

He dropped that gem in April 2020, when asked if governors or the president had the say in reopening states during the pandemic. (Trump was adamant it was his call – a claim so wildly unconstitutional that even GOP senators coughed nervously). Constitutional scholars were quick to remind him that, no, he is not an absolute monarch. As one law professor dryly told the press, “The federal government can’t give orders to governors… That’s a very simple fact of life.” Trump’s response? Basically, a royal wave of the hand.

He doubled down on his “the President’s might is right” theory in other contexts too. Infamously, in a July 2019 speech, Trump boasted, “Then I have an Article II, where I have the right to do whatever I want as president. (He added, perhaps for comic relief, “But I don’t even talk about that.” Sure, Mr. President, you don’t talk about it – you just act on it.) This egomaniacal interpretation of Article II of the Constitution underpinned many of Trump’s legal misadventures. If the boss can “do whatever I want,” why bother dotting i’s or crossing t’s required by law?

Well, the federal judiciary provided an answer: because that’s how law works. The courts spent four years (and counting) teaching Trump 101 lessons in Governance 101. Time and again, judges halted Trump administration actions for flouting procedural rules or constitutional bounds. By early 2019, federal judges had ruled against the Trump administration at least 63 times in major cases – an extraordinary record of defeat. Most of these losses stemmed from the administration’s failure to follow the basic Administrative Procedure Act (APA) requirements (you know, the pesky process of providing reasoned explanations, taking public comments, obeying evidence – all that boring rule-of-law stuff).

Normally, the government wins about 70% of APA challenges. Trump’s win rate was around 6% – yes, single digits – as of his second year in office. Judges, including many appointed by Republicans, chastised Trump officials for ignoring “the most basic rules of governance” and acting in an “arbitrary and capricious” manner. In polite legalese, that’s the equivalent of saying the administration behaved like a bull in a China shop, with utter contempt for the law’s requirements.

Some select highlights (or lowlights) of this prior losing streak:

• Courts stopped the administration from abruptly ending DACA (the Supreme Court in DHS v. Regents of the Univ. of California (2020) called the move capricious and sloppy).
• Judges blocked multiple attempts to weaken environmental protections and healthcare regulations for failing to consider the impacts.
• The attempt to add a citizenship question to the census was struck down, with the Supreme Court famously finding the administration’s rationale was “contrived” – basically a polite way of saying they lied about their motives.
• Even where Trump chalked up a “win” (like the watered-down Travel Ban 3.0 upheld in Trump v. Hawaii), it came with stinging dissenting opinions and a tarnished legacy (Justice Sotomayor compared the decision to the infamous Korematsu case, noting the chilling parallels of prejudice).

And Trump v. Hawaii aside, the initial Muslim ban escapade was a judicial fiasco for Trump – multiple courts enjoined it, forcing revisions. Recall that after the first ban was blocked, Stephen Miller angrily promised the world would see the president’s power “will not be questioned.” Spoiler: It was questioned, repeatedly, and often nullified. Miller’s prophetic skills proved about as good as his compassion levels (i.e., not great).

To be fair, Trump did have one consistent legal strategy: stall and defy. When confronted with congressional subpoenas or state investigations, his reflex was to sue, appeal, and run out the clock. He famously told aides to ignore congressional oversight, effectively daring another branch to enforce its prerogatives. This led to landmark court fights over separation of powers – and even here, Trump often lost (for instance, courts ruled Congress could obtain Trump’s financial records, although appeals slowed the process). In the end, Trump’s philosophy seemed to boil down to might makes right, a view utterly at odds with American constitutionalism. The Framers designed a system of government that explicitly divides power and requires compromise. Trump, channeling his inner Louis XIV, simply could not abide anyone telling him no – not a judge, not a state, not even a pandemic.

Conclusion: The Hypocrisy Rebutted by The Courts

The Trump administration’s track record reveals a rich tapestry of legal contradictions. Here was a president elected under the banner of a party that preaches limited federal government and local control. Yet, in practice, Trump is showing scant respect for either. He clamored for states’ rights when it suited him (for example, letting states choose to “reopen” or not during COVID – until he changed his mind), but he trampled state and city authority when they dared pursue policies he disliked (immigration, environmental rules, election certifications – you name it).

The hypocrisy was not lost on observers. When Trump sent the feds into Los Angeles, commentators noted that Republicans’ supposed commitment to states’ rights was always more slogan than principle. “States’ rights” was a fig leaf, quickly discarded the moment a state’s “right” conflicted with Trump’s desires. It calls to mind the old quip: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds” – by Ralph Waldo Emerson – and Trump’s mind was nothing if not unhindered by consistency.

Stephen Miller, for his part, remains a singular figure in this saga—a man so committed to executive overreach he managed to outflank even Trump on the authoritarian spectrum. As the Count Dracula of Constitutional Contortions, Miller helped construct a shadow legal regime where rights were negotiable, the law was infinitely pliable, and habeas corpus was treated like a dusty relic—easily discarded with the right incantation (or executive order). But despite his flair for legal theater, many of Miller’s boldest blueprints of the past collapsed under the weight of constitutional scrutiny. It turns out even the most baroque power grabs can’t survive when courts insist on actual law.

He wasn’t elected, but as a senior adviser he arguably did more to shape (or misshape) Trump’s policies than almost anyone else. The courts, federalism, and basic human decency were frequent impediments to his projects – and thank goodness for that. His lasting imprint, however, is still being defined. His past included the Muslim ban (even in diluted form) and set a precedent of religiously tainted policy; the family separation crisis will haunt America’s conscience for years; the xenophobic rhetoric he mainstreamed has seeped deeply into all GOP talking points. In the end, Miller might revel in being called an “evil architect” – the moniker suggests his plans are grand and nefarious. But many of his ideas were both structurally unsound and failed under the weight of law. Let’s hope for a repeat.

As I survey the wreckage of Trump’s lawless strategy, there is both reason for alarm and a silver lining. The alarm comes from how the administration is fundamentally eroding checks and balances. Had the judiciary not held firm in the past, had a few state officials caved to pressure, we might be looking at a very different state of American democracy. The silver lining is that the system, albeit stressed, largely worked. Courts did question the president’s power, repeatedly and emphatically. State governors and attorneys general (from both parties) pushed back and won key battles, from preserving sanctuary policies to stopping absurd “alternate elector” schemes. Even within the GOP, some voices whispered that this isn’t what true conservatism looks like.

The saga also produced moments of dark comedy. Trump crowing about “total authority” one day, then insisting he bears no responsibility the next. Miller insisting the Constitution somehow allowed an election do-over, as if Schoolhouse Rock never existed. The administration’s legal briefs at times read like they were written in crayon and judges are noting the government’s lack of evidence and outright lies fairly often. If it weren’t so serious, it would be fodder for political satire. Actually, it is fodder for satire (but that’s a coping mechanism for me at best).

In retrospect, Trump’s treatment of “states’ rights” tells a broader truth: for him and his inner circle, power was never about principle, only about itself. The moment a state – or a court, or a law – stands in the way, it becomes the new enemy. The Republican Party may still give lip service to federalism, but under Trump’s command, the tune changed to “I Did It My Way.” That might work for a Sinatra song, but it’s a dangerous way to govern a constitutional republic. As Americans, whether left or right, we should demand better than government by whim and vendetta. The Constitution is not perfect, but it’s enduring; presidents are temporary. Trump’s tenure, especially with Stephen Miller whispering dark thoughts in his ear, is a stress test for the Constitution’s guardrails. They bent, at times creaked, but did not break yet.

Still, the saga isn’t over. Legal battles continue, and the 2025 landscape shows Trump still testing the limits (Sanctuary cities Round Two, National Guard drama, Marines sent to LA, etc.). One hopes that even those who applaud Trump’s hardball tactics will pause to consider the precedent being set now. If a President Biden or Harris deployed troops to Texas over Abbott’s objection, or cut off funds to Alabama for resisting a liberal policy, would they be okay with it? If the answer is no, then the principle must be consistent. Either we honor states’ rights and the rule of law, or we don’t. The Trump era’s lasting lesson may well be a reminder of why those principles existed in the first place – and how jealously they must be guarded, no matter who is in power.

In the end, the “Most Lawful” thing one can say is that the law did mostly prevail over lawlessness. It was messy and required dozens of court injunctions, but the Constitution proved to be a tougher adversary to Trump’s whims than Stephen Miller might have anticipated. Trump himself once mused that “the whole world will soon see” his power is unchallengeable. Instead, what the world sees is an American judicial institution putting him in check, again and again. And that is a result worth questioning absolutely.

In the meanwhile, I added garlic to my garden, so I can be ready for any more vampire lawyers.

Editor’s Note: This article is republished with permission of the author with first publication on his Substack.