Trump's poll numbers have been so bad lately that criticizing him seems like it could get you flagged for piling on. So here goes!
Like, four days ago, I thought nothing could be a more perfect distillation of his colossal bumbling than the film of him proudly presiding over a coronavirus superspreader event on the White House lawn. There's his Supreme Court nominee, the perfect mother of seven with a "towering intellect" exposing her kids to the contagion! If she's so brilliant why did she not sprint the other way when Trump came calling? Instead, she spruced up her kids to meet him in person. Yuck!
But then, like two days ago, he went on that slow ride around the hospital block in a hermetically sealed SUV, waving to the assembled cheering dolts through the closed window as the Secret Service men in the front seat presumably tried not to breathe. I trust they're in quarantine now. They're more at risk than ACB and her photogenic family.
Maybe that trip round the block was the more perfect distillation. Looking backwards, the stiffest competition I can make out is the time he had the protesters peppered to clear a walking path to a church in front of which he then stood to have his picture taken while holding a Bible upside down. That was pretty good, but I think he's o'ertopped himself this week—more than once. Or possibly the fog of time causes me to undervalue last season's hits. I'm sure I've forgotten a lot—I'm just now remembering last night's Mussolini imitation on the White House balcony. Today, workmen dressed in spacesuits deep scrubbed the interior of the White House. That's a competitor, too. If only physical disinfectant worked on moral taint, narcissism, stupidity, and incompetence.
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