THE (BULL)DOZER
The fading Trump spent his bizarre cabinet meeting Tuesday fighting sleep, before waking with a sickening fury ...
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As I type this, the President of the United States is chairing a meeting of his busted cabinet that would have been impossible to believe just 10 years ago.
And a note: I had no intention of staying with this North Korea-like, state-run propaganda, but now that I’ve bumped into it, I find I can’t take my eyes off it.
It is a train wreck wrapped in a dumpster fire, and in a normal time and place would end this appalling presidency.
Who could watch even five minutes of this tragedy without knowing that it simply had to be cancelled? Who could watch a man who is so obviously rotting from the inside out, and not flag the absurdity and danger of it all?
Those questions are chiefly for you, corporate media. But more on you in a moment …
Whatever is happening inside this room right now, is not normal, and it certainly isn’t working.
The 142-year-old 79-year-old Donald Trump is adorned in a pink tie, and stuffed in a white shirt and dark jacket that clashes badly with his burnt-orange face and straw-colored wig he has puffed over his wrinkled head just so. And when does he decide that this is the preposterous costume he wants to wear on a given day? “Less combover, more fluff … A little less brown, and more white around the eyes … More orange in the cheeks, less around the chin … Hand me that pink tie …”
He looks absolutely ridiculous.
Now he is doing everything he can to stay awake, his head is bobbing up and down, side to side. He’s pawing at his orange face as he drifts off to the fairways of Mar-a-Lago. He’s not going to make it. It’s hard to tell if he skipped one of the drug cocktails he pounds throughout the day, or just had one too many in anticipation of his big meeting with his crooked staff.
While he fights sleep, his grotesque collection of anti-vaxxers, stone-cold bigots, crooks, and multi-millionaires and billionaires in his cabinet are showering him with praise for the stellar job he is doing heaping all his hate on the world, while stuffing his bottomless pockets with millions and millions in kickbacks and blood money.
One of them, the racist, puppy-shooting Department of Homeland Security Secretary, Kristi Noem, has just preposterously thanked him for keeping the hurricanes away from the United States this year.
This kind of absurd praise would normally get an affirmative rise from Sleepy Rider.
Not today.
No, today Trump is barely alive, and almost unresponsive to this firehose of putrid adulation that used to inject him with life.
I’m really not sure whether to laugh or cry at this theater of the completely absurd I am witnessing, but I’m pretty sure indifference can’t be a viable option.
A drunk is at the wheel and for some horrible reason nobody is taking away his keys ...
Now the ceaseless praise has finally stopped, and the media is semi-free to ask this wreck of a man, and the gathered assemblage of dangerous clowns, questions about the abomination they have just witnessed.
Except not one of these so-called journalists asks the most obvious question there is:
“Do you demand that these people ridiculously fawn over you like some tin-pot dictator, and shower you with this disgusting praise, or do they actually lower themselves into your trash can, and just stink up the entire place on their own?”
Instead, they ignore the fire that is burning out of control inside that room, and address a few of the myriad blazes that have been gleefully started by these arsonists outside the room.
But now Trump is finally rising to the bizarre occasion. He has been triggered by a press he has spent a lifetime both needing and hating.
Scratching the sleep from his puffy eyes, he is sitting up in full harrumph. You can almost see the hate pouring from his chapped, pursed lips. Even his chubby, little hands are doing that weird accordion thing, as he holds everything and everybody in contempt.
He has woken up in a bad mood.
He is attacking Somalis, and saying, “I don’t want them in our country.”
He’s doubling down, “We’re going to go the wrong way if we keep taking in garbage (like Somalis) into our country.”
He’s tripling down, calling Representative Ilhan Omar, Democrat of Minnesota, “garbage.”
He’s in full attack mode now. The bile is rising up out of him, as he relieves his pain by inflicting it on anything or anybody that comes across his short-circuiting mind:
“Countries were ripping us off for years, including allies. I won’t use the names. I won’t mention Japan. I will refuse to mention South Korea. I will not mention names.”
Of course, even when he is seeing red, and raging like a complete maniac, he never mentions names like Russia and Saudi Arabia in this context.
Such control …
Look, it’s sickening when he gets like this, but sicker yet, that nobody points it out. He’s crashing, and intent on making sure everybody else goes up in smoke.
We can’t go on like this.
Finally he addresses his obviously failing health, and never-ending “perfect” visits to the doctor as only he can:
“I took my physical. I got all As. Everything. But they (the doctors) said to me, ‘Would you like to take a cognitive test?’ So I said, ‘Is it hard?’ And they said, ‘Yes.’ So I said, ‘Well, I’m a very smart person. Who was the last president to take one?’ So they said, ‘No president has ever agreed to take one’ ... I aced it.”
Nobody said a word.
The demented voices inside the man’s fat, orange head are doing all the talking …
