Trump’s ‘Seinfeld Defense’ argues it wasn’t a crime if he believed his own lies 

Former President Donald Trump won the 2020 election. Despite no evidence of voter fraud, he actually believes it, his attorney said, invoking the old “Seinfeld Defense.”

George Costanza—the character in the 1990s sitcom Seinfeld—came up with the novel defense: “It's not a lie if you believe it.” That's now the brilliant legal response to a four-count indictment that accuses Trump of conspiring to overturn U.S. democracy.

Trump's attorney, John Lauro, said prosecutors can't prove the former president believes he lost the election. Presto: not guilty.

Well, Lauro has a point there: Who could possibly tell from minute-to-minute what's going through that guy's head? But there is compelling evidence that Trump did know he lost—Ketchup.

That's right, White House aide Cassidy Hutchinson told the Jan. 6 House Special Select Committee that when then-Attorney General Bill Barr told the Associated Press there was no evidence of widespread voter fraud, Trump threw his lunch and it splattered ketchup on the wall in the West Wing.

Trump's attorneys, no doubt, will seek to undermine prosecution witnesses who told the former president he lost. But how do you undermine ketchup on a wall? Heinz may well be the best answer to the “Seinfeld Defense,” because, after all, ketchup doesn't lie.

Pigskin Pigout—It Couldn’t be About the Money
Don't let anyone tell you that college football has become all about money. Sure, it looks that way, but just because universities are jumping from one conference to another for bigger TV bucks doesn't mean we've lost what's really important about college football. We'll get to that in a minute.

University of Utah football coach Kyle Whittingham makes $6 million a year. But it's not so much compared to Alabama football coach Nick Saban, who pulls in $10.6 million.

Alabama football, in the Southeastern Conference (SEC), brought in a record $130.87 million last year. In Sept. 2022, the Big Ten Conference announced a new TV deal worth more than $1 billion per year.

Last week, in something like football musical chairs, the PAC-12 conference became, in reality, the PAC- 4, as schools bolted. The Big 10 added two schools and the Big 12 grabbed another three college teams, including Utah, USC, and UCLA—Colorado had left earlier.

Jack Dickert, Washington State head coach, said TV money will destroy college football and the school rivalries that have been central to it: “We'll look back at college football in 20 years and be like 'what are we doing?'”

What's really important about college football? It molds young men and prepares them for the pros where they could become millionaires. But it's not about money.

How Mike Pence Got His Groove Back
Mike Pence is from Indiana so it's no surprise he's got lots of charisma. Indiana is the “Charisma State.” Residents there are known as Hoosiers, from the Greek χάρισμα—“who's yours?”

Pence was a gregarious young man from a good Catholic family of Democrats. Then something happened—the future savior of American democracy became an evangelical Christian and a conservative Republican and along the way landed a statewide radio show, cleverly called “The Mike Pence Show.”

He said his program was like Rush Limbaugh on downers. It launched his political career, where he was elected to the House for six terms and then governor of Indiana. But when Trump picked the charming Mike Pence to be his running mate, the Hoosier had to promise never to be charismatic again. Only Trump could be charming.

Pence took on the persona of a mud fence so well that some believed he was an android. Then came Jan. 6 and “Hang Mike Pence.” The vice president and his family had to run for their lives.

It was a reawakening. That's why the Mike Pence we see running for president today is the old fun-loving jokester who used to say his radio show was the political answer to Pee-wee's Playhouse. Mike Pence rocks—relatively speaking, of course.

Postscript—That'll do it for another historic week here at Smart Bomb, where we keep track of our bizarre politics so you don't have to.

It's now clear that Donald Trump is running for president so he won't have to go to prison. More than two-thirds of Republicans believe Trump is the rightly elected president and that stuff about the Jan. 6 insurrection is all made up. Trump continues to run far ahead in the race for the Republican nomination.

Utah Senator-For-Life Mike Lee said prosecuting Trump for things he did on Jan. 6 is “dangerous,” because he was president then and had immunity. In essence, a failed coup is not punishable by law. Great. Hey Wilson, do you ever get the feeling we've collided with a parallel universe where black is white and right-side-up is upside-down?

Meanwhile, Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis is campaigning against Mickey Mouse while extolling the great benefits of slavery for Black people. It's not going too well, so he raised the rhetoric by saying as president he would start “slitting throats” in the federal bureaucracy on day one. It sure is nice that we're setting the example of true democracy for all those Third World countries—bunch of heathens.

Songwriter Randy Newman once penned a number called, “Short People,” which was really about prejudice of all kinds. These days it seems like no one likes homeless people—many of whom are families and single moms. So, Wilson, get the band to put down the hookah and take us out with a little something for the downtrodden:

Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
To live

Don't want no Homeless People
Don't want no Homeless People
'Round here
“Short People”—Randy Newman, modified by the Smart Bomb staff