I’m to copy a sketch; find the source of a call;
To have golfing technology tracking your ball;
An amount in a substance, exceedingly small;
And the evidence left, or you’ve no clue at all.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Asher. See comments for answer.

I filmed Great Expectations and Oliver Twist;
I’m the years that are poor, where you barely subsist;
I’m a posture to sit from the Passover list;
And the meat that Jack Sprat ate, his wife would resist.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Jordan. See comments for answer.

So President Trump directed Attorney General Jeff Sessions to fire Andrew McCabe, the acting director of the FBI.

McCabe was set to retire anyway, but the administration chose to fire him so he wouldn’t get his full pension.

The president then crowed about the firing in a tweet.

Ranting and raving about new lows for this administration can get tiring after a while. Maybe that’s the point. Fortunately, I am constitutionally empowered to anagram passages from Shakespeare to express my disapproval, so that’s what I’m going to do.

I chose the speech from Richard III where Hastings laments his capricious treatment by Richard. Richard has sentenced him to death for a transparently minor offense, when the real reason is that Hastings doesn’t support Richard to become king. Hastings notes the dangers faced by others in the circle who may be enjoying his misfortunes thinking they’re safe.

From Richard III:

I prophesy the fearfull’st time to thee
That ever wretched age hath look’d upon.
Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head:
They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Trump, he hotly tweets: McCabe, he led the FBI. He’ll be fired home.

He’s married to a Democrat, so Trump kept heatedly asking how he voted as a loyalty oath theme.

Oh, hell.

That’s actually true.

Oh, hell.