My Faults

Yeah, I touched people. I made comments. I hovered too long. Call it what you want. Back then, they called it “leadership style.” I called it being “hands-on.” Power makes you deaf until it’s screaming back at you in a lawsuit.

I shoved COVID patients back into nursing homes and watched the numbers climb. Then I underreported the deaths to make myself look good on TV. That's called strategy! And then I wrote a book about how well I handled it. Timing is everything.

Four million dollars to pat myself on the back while bodies were still warm. I used government staff to help write it, sure, but who better to spin disaster into a victory lap?! Did I cash in on tragedy? GOD no! I capitalized on it!

My real gift wasn’t policy, it was deflection. Every accusation? A political hit job. Every victim? Misunderstood. I weaponized press conferences and wrapped myself in victimhood while steamrolling the truth. Denial wasn’t a defense. No, it was a platform.

They’ll say I fell from grace. But grace was never the goal, control was. I ruled with a smirk and a press badge, and for a while, it worked! Now they want to rewrite my story? HA! Let them try. I already wrote the first draft.