I had a couple of good essays bouncing around in my head. All week, I’ve been pocketing away articles from various sources about the root causes for why some people support Trump. I had one for the working class perspective, the women’s perspective and the 01%’s perpective, which I think is the most interesting of all because it’s becoming clear to me that the super wealthy aren’t motivated by the prospect of a tax cut. No, it’s something much more insidious and rapacious than that. I suspect it goes back almost a thousand years.
And then there was the matter of Kris Kobach’s request for the personal identifying information for every voter in every state in the country, and PA’s governor Tom Wolf’s tart “go fuck yourself” letter in response was orgasmic.
But none of that happened today. I admit that I get distracted, as I am likely to do these days. My mind is elsewhere. I can’t help it. But even if I had carried through with all of those proposed posts, they would have been drowned out by the cacophony stirred up by this:
Dear Trump voters, you really don’t want to go down this road. There is a Rubicon and we are at it. Tolerance of this behavior is like taking one step over that Rubicon. You know, the river Julius Caesar had to cross to become Emperor? Defying the Republic and forcing Pompey to flee? No? Go download Rome on HBO. At least the sex will keep your attention. (Or not, as the case may be. There are a LOT of sex scenes.)
Anyway, it looks to me like Donald is begging for someone to declare him mentally unfit. He had only one job and all that. He should be allowed to resign and go play golf. This White House gig is over his head and his ratings are down.
There are a lot of very bad things in store for all of us if he’s not forced to step down over this. Ok, sure, life isn’t going to be any better under Pence. But at least Pence is the devil we know.
We can’t function effectively as a nation when a man child with this little self control thinks he’s an emperor.
He needs a psych evaluation. Like, yesterday.
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