Donald Trump is a shaky, scrofulous, shitty human being
SEAMUS O’BRADAIGH – POWERFUL PUNDIT
‘Tis the season for the speech. One hour of Donald Trump written by Matthew Miller, with anecdotes from your least favorite great-uncle, lit up on his 13th Jameson’s and asking Aunt Mary to pass the carburetor at dinner.
Is there a doctor in the House? And will they be in attendance tonight when Benedict Donald reads from a prompter in a miasma of contagion sliding from flaunt to jaunt to medicated taunts.
Can he hold it together?
Remember this is a man who leads the free world and his cregivers are hoping, praying and oft overheard pleading, like that little engine that could: “I think he can. I think he can!”
This is where the free world stands in this year 2018. Just two years into the tenure of a president whose bar is so low that his son is bragging that dear old dad scored 30 out of 30 on a test given to advanced Alzheimer’s patients.
If Obama took that test? If he had to take that test? We would be wondering what the hell is wrong. Trump takes a basic competency test that wants to know if you can pick out a lion, a giraffe and a possum from rendered drawings and it’s a cause for celebration?
Donald Trump is walking around the town five feet away from a ‘release the hounds’ Nuclear Football that could descend the world into a nuclear winter and we’re saying: Move on folks, nothing to see here!
This man is one pound shy of morbidly obese, is addicted to Diet Cokes, is a racist robber baron, assaults women on a whim, does not talk to his wife, picks fights with black and brown people, says Nazis are good guys in khakis and we’re supposed to be impressed that he can point at a picture and say: “That is, erm, a … shovel?”
We went from an erudite black lawyer with a Harvard education, a beautiful family life, with impeccable style and intelligence . . . to the local wise guy standing outside a strip club mall in Queens, whistling at strippers, and cheating on his wife.
Tonight. If the con man can string 1017 paragraphs together from a teleprompter without calling Haiti a shithole, The Donald will be lauded as the second coming of Christ.
That’s the state of the nation folks.
You don’t need to listen tonight.
The state of that nation is wobbly.
It’s shaky, demented, weird, funky, stupid, moronic, debilitated both physically and mentally, crass, languid, tepid, racist, misogynistic, offensive and rude.
It’s times like this, preludes to a benign concerto, that I am glad that: I am a Canadian, living with a Parliamentary system that would not stand a man like Trump.
A system where removal of the substandard human detritus is as easy as a vote of non-confidence.
But, by all means my friends, watch it.
Watch it and remember that most famous fiddler on the roof.
Playing his instrument as Rome was razed.
Nero had his fiddle and Trump has his wedge.
And his little putter for the denouement.