History repeats itself, as Karl Marx memorably said, first as tragedy, second as farce—and there is surely no more farcical figure on the contemporary scene than soon-to-be-ex-Rep. George Santos (R-NY).

Donald Trump, of course, was the tragedy: a con man who, even to this day, is able to hoodwink a hundred million people, through innate charisma and the time-tested techniques of the demagogue.

George Santos, then, is the farce: a con man whose lies were so transparently ridiculous, whose grift was so glaringly obvious, that he will go down in history (and perhaps a Netflix limited series) as a clownish figure, at once rube and knave, who sowed the seeds of his exile through a series of ludicrous self-owns.

I admit, I’ve loved the Santos story since the beginning. Where Trump’s corruption and deceit have torn apart this country, Santos’s was merely laughable. And it kept getting better. First there were the made-up resume items: schools he never attended, a firm he never worked out. That was pretty ordinary.

But then things got weird: Santos said his mother died on 9/11, which she did not. He said his grandmother was a Holocaust survivor, which she was not. He said his company had four employees killed in the 2016 Pulse nightclub massacre, which it did not. Gradually, the lies seemed pathological rather than calculating. The man simply could not help himself.

As someone who once wrote an entire book on a charlatan (an 18th century heretic and quasi-cult-leader named Jacob Frank), I couldn’t look away.

And then came the wild stuff, like claims that he won a college volleyball........

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