Picture this: wild-eyed dipshit Kash Patel flies to Utah the day after the assassination of Charlie Kirk, presumably to show grieving MAGA World that Kirk’s murder is of the utmost importance to the awesome law enforcement powers of the federal government. FBI agents and Utah law enforcement personnel are still processing the scene and looking for the suspected gunman, all under the intense glare of worldwide media that has made this a huge story. (Which is the second reason Patel was in Utah: the man never saw a television camera he wouldn’t throw himself in front of like a mama grizzly defending her cubs.) No less than the president of the United States is promising to solve a crime that was not even a federal case.

Patel, the FBI’s Director, lands in the middle of this maelstrom. And immediately refuses to get off the plane until someone finds him one of those windbreakers agents wear at crime scenes with FBI stamped across them in giant yellow letters.

This holiday season, give yourself or a loved one the gift of Wonkette. We’re almost as fun as spiked eggnog.

No, really. The anecdote is from a new report allegedly written by a group of former and current agents unhappy with the direction of the Bureau under Kash’s reign. Let’s quote the entire passage in this New York Post story, for laughter:

FBI special agents at the Salt Lake City field office busy working on the Kirk case “had to stop and ask around to find an FBI raid jacket — a medium-sized one — that would fit.”

When a jacket belonging to a female agent was delivered to Patel on the plane, he complained that “two areas on the upper sleeves did not have Velcro patches attached.”

Patel would not leave the plane “until he had two patches to cover those areas” so “members of an FBI SWAT Team took patches off their uniforms and ran those patches over to” Patel “at the airport. The patches were then attached to the loaner FBI raid jacket” and Patel “disembarked from the plane.”

Anything else you need before you go pretend like you personally are going to solve this crime, Mr. Director? A couple of six-shooters you can strap on your hips, so you look like the New Delhi version of Wyatt Earp? Wraparound Oakleys? Hair and makeup teams?

. . .