Donald Trump has the greatest job in the world and is easing into it with all the zeal and finesse of a 143-pound 7-year-old thumping along an endless beach with a shovel, no conscience, and so many sandcastles to smash.
Trump’s dream job has him waking up each day, giving himself plenty of thought, and making love to himself while millions of supporters click on FOX News, turn up the volume and look on in glee. It is literally the worst made-for-TV porn film ever produced, but, hell, it’s great work for a terrific imbecile with an oversized ego and a tiny schlong.
Go ahead, you tell Donald Trump America isn’t great again.
There was never a single second Trump got into this dream job for America’s sake. This whole disgraceful chapter in America history was always about one thing: Trump making sure he got what he deserved, and rubbing it in with his best words.
What better place for an entitled, narcissistic, blowhard to take up shop than the most public, powerful position in the world? What better place to be fussed and fawned over than in the job as President of the United States?
While you watch in horror as your country is being gutted of its most sacred, endearing values, Trump looks into his nuclear-powered cell phone and sees Trump.
While you look on as a verbally challenged buffoon with abysmal, historically low approval ratings grinds wisdom into sawdust, Trump just winks at the tens of millions who adore him no matter what.
While you read on as the working press systematically exposes his complicit, traitorous relationship with the Russians, Trump snarls at the fake news, oils up Sean Spicer, and for good measure makes doubly sure nobody will ever see those tax returns.
While you cringe as this freakishly tiny-fingered bully pushes his way to the front of the line in Europe, his supporters see an American-first leader who will courageously go it alone while inserting us into several wars just as soon as possible. Only when our boys and girls are dying on some battlefield are we really asserting our good ol’ American strength.
While you see an orange, straw-wigged menace bent on polluting our air and water, his supporters see a fearless leader who will have them back in the coal mines in no time.
While your ears bleed as he casually, effortlessly insults all of our nation’s minorities, his supporters hoot and holler in response to the bigoted dog whistle …
All this is so much more than Trump could ever have imagined when he oh-so-innocently cranked up his anti-Obama Birther Campaign so many years ago. Like all things Trump, that bit of overt bigotry was generated for the sole purpose of sucking all the negative attention he could out of the country to fuel an insatiable ego. That it also identified rich veins of hate and ugliness in all those nooks and crannies of the American countryside was a terrific, awesome, great, great bonus. Who knew only a few years later, he’d be turning Steve Bannon loose on a major re-branding job and claiming it all as Trump Country.
And it got so much better, because if all that undying loyalty had been the only return on his 18-month hate-and-insult tour that somehow led to the darkness of Nov. 8, 2016, he would have had to have considered it a tremendous, terrific, success. I mean, nobody had ever acted more publicly appalling over such an endless stretch and avoided shooting even one supporter in the middle of 5th Avenue just to prove a point.
No, Trump found eager, pliable, blind hate in them thar hills, spun it into a frenzy, and ultimately, victory.
Trump had won the coveted prize. He had the greatest job in the world. He was No. 1. He finally got what he deserved. Now it was time to settle in and bathe in the adulation of the millions who adored him.
And to the huge majority of Americans who saw he had no clothes …? Well, why pay them any bother, when so many others in Trump Country had fallen madly in love with that image.