JUDGE JEANINE

LAW FOR THEE, PARDONS FOR ME

Jeanine Pirro talks about “accountability” the way an arsonist talks about “fire safety” — loud, sweaty, and hoping you don’t check the fingerprints on the gas can. As U.S. Attorney for D.C., she’s pounding the Washington Post pulpit about locking up “emboldened” youth, mocking rehabilitation programs as if ice cream socials are the root cause of violent crime. But the only reason her ex-husband isn’t still a convicted felon is because her political sugar daddy signed his get-out-of-history-free card. Nothing says “justice for all” quite like getting your family’s felonies erased by the guy who now signs your paychecks.

Albert J. Pirro Jr. didn’t just break the law — he pounded it into powder and snorted it off a set of luxury car keys. Convicted on 34 counts of conspiracy and tax evasion for deducting over a million dollars in personal luxuries — vacation homes, fine art, cars — as “business expenses,” he was sentenced to 29 months in prison. He served less than half. Then, in the final sleazy hours of his presidency, Donald Trump wiped the slate clean. Pirro calls yoga and counseling “soft on crime”; her idea of rehabilitation is a Mar-a-Lago dinner and a handshake from a man who thinks ethics is a type of golf club.

Now the woman who lived in the house that mercy built wants to brick up the doors for everyone else. She’s demanding adult trials for teenagers, decades-long sentences, and zero loopholes — except the one her family escaped through. If hypocrisy were a felony, she’d be in solitary with no parole date. This is the only prosecutor in America who’d throw a 15-year-old in prison for stealing sneakers while hosting a backyard reunion for white-collar felons over catered hors d’oeuvres.

Pirro’s career isn’t a résumé; it’s a cautionary tale about failing upward. She bombed as a Senate candidate, flopped as an Attorney General contender, and found her true calling as Fox News’ loudest carnival act — a one-woman drunk tank rant with makeup. She wasn’t appointed U.S. Attorney in spite of her bias — she was appointed because of it. She didn’t climb the ladder of justice; she rode the service elevator marked “Friends of Donald,” champagne flute in hand, promising to keep the riffraff out of the penthouse.

Her op-ed turns kids in D.C. into cartoon villains, irredeemable predators who must be caged in adult court because “family court rehabilitation” is too soft. She sneers at programs that try to keep young offenders from reoffending, as though a carton of Ben & Jerry’s is the linchpin of gang culture. Meanwhile, she’ll never mention that her ex’s rehabilitation came with wine pairings and ocean views. Mercy, to her, is a members-only country club — and the dress code is white collar.

This is her justice: a velvet rope for the rich and connected, a steel door for the poor and powerless. If you’re a teenager with the wrong ZIP code, you get the book thrown at you; if you’re a millionaire in her circle, you get the book autographed. Pirro isn’t trying to “make D.C. safe and beautiful”; she’s making sure the legal system stays ugly enough to protect her friends and dangerous enough to crush her enemies. Her brand of justice doesn’t come blindfolded — it comes with bottle service, a guest list, and a bouncer who knows your name.

Jeanine Pirro isn’t the fierce guardian of justice she pretends to be. She’s a walking billboard for the rigged casino we call a justice system, the smiling dealer stacking the deck while telling you the game’s fair. Her moral outrage is a costume, her op-eds are propaganda, and her career is one long case of “rules for thee, but not for me.” If justice is blind, Pirro’s the one selling her the blindfold, the earplugs, and the alibi.

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If you think it’s time someone pried the gavel out of Jeanine Pirro’s Chardonnay-soaked grip and slapped her with the same laws she throws at everyone else, subscribe to Closer to the Edge. We bring the receipts, the history, and the kind of takedowns that make hypocrites scream into their wine glasses.