Morford: The first 30 days: A fine month of unmitigated hell
The first 30 days: A fine month of unmitigated hell
By Mark Morford on February 22, 2017 at 10:26 AM
Like a petulant child pointing at a blanket he wants to beat up
President Putin says hi
Indeed we are. The whole world.
“I’m not drunk. You’re all drunk. You’re all drunk. This my mother–king house. This my mother–king house. Goody goo-goo. Goody goo-goo.” – Donald Trump (via Trevor Noah)
It’s been a nervous, semi-serious joke since the beginning of Trump’s stubby middle-finger of a campaign – if not well before that – given the man’s tendency to stumble through half-formed thoughts like a drunken gerbil, garble the most basic of democratic concepts and generally make a mockery of grammar, coherence and life itself, embarrassing even small children who only know nine words and also how to burp. It’s a joke – “Might Trump be truly mentally unstable?” – that quickly turned far more dire and dangerous as he lurched, lied and stabbed his way into power, his overt derangement and misanthropy not at all diminishing, not turning to a more reasonable form of statesmanship, but actually accelerating, deepening, becoming something far more sinister and openly terrifying: A Russia-controlled fascist in clown’s clothing, a man-baby with the mind of a tire fire. As George Packer put it in the New Yorker: “It won’t get better. The notion that, at some point, Trump would start behaving ‘Presidential’ was always a fantasy that has the truth backward: the pressure of the Presidency is making him worse.” Not yet. The pressure from the avalanche of evidence of his gross corruptions and treasonous actions needs to build a little more, first. Just to be sure. But soon.
Did you catch the most surreal, deeply weird press conference in recent American history, from a few days back? You must watch – at least the highlights, though the whole 77 minutes of it makes for truly mesmerizing, nearly avant-garde theater, like watching the world’s worst Transformer attempt to assemble itself out of broken razor blades, shards of glass, a giant bucket of pink slime and whatever glue Trump sniffed that morning. Hell, even comedians were stumped about what to make of it.
This much we know: We are, as widely noted, a mere month into the most acidic political era in our recent history, and the cruelty and destruction has been widespread, frightening and, in many ways, much worse than many people imagine. And it’s just getting started. Or is it? There are, it cannot be denied, many bright flames of resistance, successful howls of protest and blessed judicial pushback, not to mention many curious flickers of hope that this sh-tshow won’t last all that long, after all – though right now, every day seems interminable and every check of the newswires brings a fresh and unconscionable hell.
You needn’t go far to find fascinating whispers and not-unreliable hints that, for example, the peeing-Russian-hookers thing wasn’t only accurate, it was just a fragment, a pointer to a stunning mountain of damning evidence that the president is more corrupt and deeply revolting than anyone has even come close to imagining, all rumbling, churning, and building toward the biggest reality TV reveal of all time: the well-deserved annihilation of a bogus president, the most spectacular scandal in American political history, as we all kick the orange bastard off the island forevermore. It’s not at all difficult to believe. Trump has insulted and/or alienated nearly every major world power and U.S. ally, along with their intelligence agencies, not to mention the U.N. and NATO and most major trade partners, saving his bromantic lust only for one man: V. Putin, pug-like murderous thug with the extant humanity of a child molester.
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