In January 2016, some writing friends and I rented a house at the Russian River so we could concentrate on our writing. Naturally, we did anything but—instead we napped, cooked, browsed the internet, stared into space. I was in the kitchen when my friend who was reading the news looked up and announced, “So now Trump says he could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody without losing any voters.”

I burst out laughing. I was one of the many back then who regarded Trump’s candidacy as a total joke. At times I found him quite funny, and thought he could have made a go of it as a stand-up comic, what with his innate feel for the audience and sense of comic timing. Yet I couldn’t imagine him getting the nomination, let alone becoming President.

The joke’s on me. It stopped being funny long, long ago. In fact, most of the time I feel terrified. Not so much by Trump, who has always made it perfectly clear that he’s a total fraud who has no business being anywhere near elected office. What alarms me are those voters and so-called adults in the room who have continued to support him no matter how many shots he takes in broad daylight. Even inciting an insurrection hasn’t deterred his tens of millions of fans. Or most of his fellow Republican politicians and nominees who hate his guts but will still vote for him.

Of course, Trump has lost voters, which is why he’s no longer president. But still.

My mind has been boggled and broken thousands of times by what Trump has gotten away with.  His latest legal claims of total immunity take the cake. They are as ludicrous and laughable as his becoming president once struck me. But once again the joke’s on me.

So I guess it’s true that Trump could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody without losing any votes.

I just never imagined that the conservative members of the Supreme Court would be driving the getaway car.