I am not a fan of Mike Allen. Ever since he and his partner in hackery called for a “do-over” for George W. Bush for Katrina, he’s occupied a special place on my shit list. I say that up front so that we know where we’re starting when we talk about Allen. We’re starting with somebody who thinks hundreds of dead people are just some, like, signifier or rhetorical device or something.

That’s where we started, Mike Allen and me.

Here’s where we’re at right now:

Christmas @ Mar-a-Lago: @realDonaldTrump, relaxed and chatty, hosts press for drinks — off-record but pics OK @axios pic.twitter.com/lysW7FHzIl

— Mike Allen (@mikeallen) December 19, 2016

He put you in a pen, Mike.

He put you in a pen and he put up a sign, at every single rally and every single event. PLEASE DISTURB. He told people to yell at you, to call you a liar, to call you scum. He told people to do worse. He did it with a smile and a chuckle and he did it on purpose.

He mocked a reporter with a disability. He did a demeaning little impression. Here it is, in case you missed it:

(Do you have any kind of disability, Mike?

Do you know anyone who does? Do you love anyone who does?

I hope those people don’t see that photo of you bellying up to Trump’s bar.)

His followers called female reporters bitches and sluts and said they should be raped to death. People who attended his rallies and cheered sent Nazi propaganda cartoons to Jewish (and non-Jewish) reporters, sent articles about death camps, sent pictures of Hitler, and laughed when anyone fought back.

Oh, not at YOU, I know. Not you personally. Nobody did that to you. Trump would never do that to you. His followers might, but then again they might not. It’s hard for them to get into the green rooms.

He just did it to people who work for you. People who work with you. People whose job it was to cover politics and whose livelihoods depended on doing their jobs well and whose lives depended on doing them safely. People who probably make a lot less money than you. People who have fewer powerful friends. People who have more to lose.

People who work harder before breakfast on their laziest days than you will ever work again in your life. People whose work pays your bills and gets you in the door to the kinds of swank parties where the president-elect shows up.

Those are the people Donald Trump PUT IN A FUCKING CAGE.

You owe them your loyalty and your respect. You owe them, at the very least, the loyalty and respect required to decline a party invitation or refrain from publicizing your attendance. I’m not saying you have to tell him to suck your balls, though that would be nice. Like I said, you and I started from pretty far down. I’m not expecting you to be a hero.

I’d like to think you could be a mammal.

A man, if we caught you on a good day.

Maybe this was just a bad one.

Maybe we could give you a do-over.

A.