There is something profoundly, almost artistically, tedious about the way we process corruption in the United States. We treat it like a recurring seasonal allergy—inevitable, mildly irritating, and ultimately ignored until the next flare-up. In the latest installment of our national sitcom, ‘As the Swamp Churns,’ we find ourselves staring at a federal judge in Miami who has, with the weary flourish of a man folding a fitted sheet, rescheduled a hearing for a Florida congresswoman accused of siphoning $5 million from the COVID-19 relief trough.

The charge itself is almost charmingly retro. Conspiring to steal federal disaster funds? In an era of high-frequency trading and global shadow banking, there’s something quaint about a public official just reaching into the cookie jar while the cookies are still warm from the printer. Five million dollars is, by the standards of our bloated federal budget, a mere rounding error, yet for the average Floridian, it represents a sum that would require several lifetimes of honest toil to acquire. But then again, honesty has always been a poor investment in the Sunshine State, a place where the humidity is only outmatched by the density of the local grifters.

Let’s analyze the ‘delay’ itself. In the legal world, a delay is not a pause; it is a weapon. It is the tactical use of time to ensure that by the time a verdict is reached, the public has been distracted by a new shiny catastrophe—perhaps a different politician caught with their hand in a different jar, or a hurricane that wipes the memory of fiscal responsibility clean. The federal judge in Miami, likely exhausted by the sheer volume of absurdity that passes through his courtroom, has pushed the date back yet again. We are told this is for 'administrative reasons' or 'legal prep,' but we all know the truth: the judicial system in this country moves with the speed of a glacier in a tanning bed. It is a Rube Goldberg machine designed to produce nothing but billable hours for attorneys and a sense of mounting apathy for everyone else.

The COVID-19 relief funds were always going to be a disaster. When the government decides to spray money at a problem like a gardener with a broken hose, the vultures don’t even have to circle; they just have to stand there with their mouths open. This particular congresswoman is accused of being one of the more enterprising birds in the flock. But don't expect the Left to be truly outraged; they’ll offer some performative clucking about ‘accountability’ while quietly ignoring the fact that their own bureaucratic structures are the ones that made such theft so effortless. Meanwhile, the Right will scream about 'government overreach' while failing to mention that their own candidates seem to view public office as a high-stakes GoFundMe campaign for their own lifestyles.

We are witnessing the natural evolution of the American political animal. They are no longer content with the mere power of the vote; they want the liquid assets. To them, a global pandemic wasn’t a tragedy; it was a liquidity event. While the rest of the country was scrubbing their groceries with bleach and wondering if they’d ever see the inside of a bar again, those in the hallowed halls of representation were apparently eyeing the relief fund like a clearance rack at a luxury boutique. The irony of a public servant accused of stealing from the public she supposedly serves is lost on no one, yet it surprises absolutely no one. We have been conditioned to expect the worst, and our leaders are more than happy to over-deliver.

The philosophy of the delay is simple: if you wait long enough, the heat death of the universe will eventually render the charges moot. Until then, we sit in this purgatory of ‘pending litigation.’ The $5 million is likely already gone, dissolved into the ether of Miami real estate or offshore accounts that are harder to find than a politician with a soul. And why should we care? Because we are told to. Because the farce requires an audience. But as I watch the calendar flip and the hearing dates drift further into the horizon, I am reminded that in the theater of the absurd, the most important character is always the one who manages to stay offstage the longest.

So, here we are. Another delay. Another shrug from the judicial leviathan. Another reminder that if you’re going to steal, steal from the government, and if you’re going to get caught, do it in a way that allows you to argue about it for the next decade. By the time this case actually reaches a conclusion, we’ll probably be dealing with the relief funds for the next pandemic, and the cycle will begin anew. It’s not a bug in the system; it’s the primary feature. God bless the United States of Grift, and may your hearing dates always be subject to change.