I don’t care what anyone says anymore. There’s no sense trying to make sense of any of it.
I don’t care that so many are still Trump junkies. Don’t care that Republicans in Congress and state government are still weaving marvelous tales and creating mythic explanations– excuses all– for the walking disaster that is Donald Trump. I don’t care that so many can still bring themselves to take him seriously.
Tom Cotton has resurfaced, vomiting up the latest jaw-droppingly tone deaf defense in the form of “let’s leave it to the voters to decide Trump’s fate,” conveniently ignoring and sidestepping the whole messy reality of four indictments and their potential consequences. They’re trotting out the same old playbook, the oldies but baddies. And millions continue to buy it, which may be the most mystifying thing of all.
Even if they can stomach the indictments and never move beyond seeing them as evidence of the witch hunt that Trump always claims them to be, couldn’t they also, finally, come to realize that Trump just has too much baggage for anyone’s good?
The fact that Trump has survived two impeachments and countless lawsuits and numerous assaults on his lousy name, and fully expects to run for President from jail, if it comes to that— these aren’t achievements! These aren’t rational, honorable aspirations.
Might all of this perhaps, maybe, cause even diehards to pause for a moment and think about America—the land they say they love—and finally admit that Trump is too much?
Trump is a prima donna. He is a selfish, immature, excessively damaged one-man wrecking crew who simply thrives on attention, loves to brag. He’s a 77-year-old empty suit, and we’ve wasted at least 8 years paying attention to this clown.
He’s never gonna do anything more than try to talk a good game, though with his limited vocabulary and scorched world view, even that could be a challenge.
He’s a lightweight. He’s got nothing, except a penchant for causing trouble and wasting everyone’s time.
3 Cents' 