Defame Fauci, defund WHO, fake your kingdom: Rage on, dumpster Trump

When the foundational duplicity of the Hustler-in-chief begins to crack, there will be no second act.

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A march how not to MAGA 

If “consistency IS the hobgoblin of little minds,” Trump is surely the petty tyrant hobgoblin of small-mindedness.  Why else does his presidency lurch from one bizarro charade to another, an infernal consistency the only thread unifying this calculated chaos?  Strange it is how mammoth failure rarely impedes a malignant narcissist from doubling down the malignancy of his narcissism. Wouldn’t even an unstable non-genius stop marching out on national TV to shoot himself in his MAGA hat — and commit political suicide? 

Trump’s singular mix of ignorance and gall takes small-mindedness to its painful finale: so little thought, if not respect for reality, we’re left with twitchy gut instincts no more reliable than mental impairment. Trump’s “smarts,” never a monument to self-improvement, appears to be shrinking precisely as the virus expands its spread from sea to shining sea. No wonder the palpable White House horror for all the pitiable flunkies who cannot protect the pretend president from himself. What does it say about the boss and this impossible job — considering only eight zillion of such “king’s men” have been fired?

Go ahead: Fire ‘America’s doctor’!

I fervently hope Trump fires Dr. Fauci, the most remarkable (and composed) American today.  I double-dare you! That blunder will ignite such a backlash to stagger any “stable genius,” let alone an insular moron. That will reinforce just how little the Denier-in-chief understands about pandemics and people dying and science.  I hope Trump withholds funds and keeps foisting his own deserved blame on the WHO.  That punitive crime invites legislation and a veto override, even talk of another impeachment. We all have time for one impeachment a month, devoid now of more compelling, cheerful TV distractions. 

I hope King Donald keeps mouthing off that he can dictate anything anytime to his American colony — as when following his inerrant gut instincts to rush to re-open the economic spigot. That will produce not only a backlash but re-ignite the pandemic — and won’t that be the perfect MAGA campaign?

If Trump falls for his own royal tomfoolery (which governors will nullify with a glance), any rush to normalcy comes without adequate testing, approved therapies or social tracing so we can track the spread.  If given an opening, Covid-19 will roar back — and with such fury Trump’s sorry ass will be singed beyond re-electability.  So isn’t the needless termination of your own citizens on the short list of impeachable offenses? Maybe we can’t indict a president for relentless, bone-head “mistakes,” but what about belligerent, “knowing” blunders directly opposed to his own own pandemic wizards?

A matter of life and death

Death, after all, leaves no prisoners — and how can there not be an even greater political price for re-fueling the pandemic train wreck?  For non-rightwingers, the timing is perfect: force people back to work by May or June, long before adequate group immunity, and then brace for a sudden return to more weeks of nothing less than “home imprisonment.” Say, another pandemic by mid-summer, primed to set up the Fall campaign festivities. 

The Democratic nominee may not be able to — or need to— leave his romper room. Trump infamy becomes the only issue — hardly a great re-election tactic because that mandates finding a new, endless slew of fake targets to blame or impugn or fire.  On full display: the inexhaustible ways in which Mr. Perfection (a 10 out of 10 he awards himself on virus responses) refuses to take the least (viral) “droplet” of responsibility. If not Trump, then who?

And in the summary mix, here’s a final result no blowhard entertainer of a pretend presidency survives: boring the audience with fatal re-runs. Mindless repetition of the untenable. Being talked to death daily by a boring ass, to echo Mark Twain, is such a tedious, terrible way to die. 

By the Fall, as Trump rages on without a win, only the most fixated Trumpers — forever refusing to admit their inglorious 2016 suckering — will defend this circus campaigner. How long before a dominant majority realizes the undeniable: never in our history has a smaller (or nastier) mind with such power done more damage in so brief a time?  Let Grandpa Biden bide his time, as appealing as mushy comfort food.  The more Trump fulminates, the riper (or more rotten) he’ll be for the picking. Yes, simply not being Trump is fast becoming a defensible Biden route to winning — for not the most charismatic of nominees.

You can’t fix stupid

“Don’t retreat, reload” is how Sarah Palin captured the incapacity of the stupid either to admit error or abandon irrational commitments.  To update Goldwater’s famous gaff, “belligerence in the defense of fixation is decidedly a vice. And immoderation in the pursuit of your own destruction is no virtue.”

In the end, Trump has only one recurrent, if mortally wounding scam — lie and attack to bluff your way out of any real or perceived threat.  Like many a deranged escapee trying to pass, he is Mr. Consistency.  By November I expect the Trump Dumpster to take fixation where no recourse is possible.  And when the foundational duplicity of the Hustler-in-chief begins to crack, there will be NO second act.  That takes a mind capable of change.  So let us find enough rough justice in this plague of consistency. If Trump knew how to be someone else, trust me: this con man would have already changed his mask. 

After all, who gets re-elected by waving his arms against a sea of troubles he brings down on his own fraudulent self? If fates are just, the mock king full of mockery for others will be exiled, doomed to spend the rest of his life fighting tooth and nail with judges, victims and district attorneys who will make their name by blackening the Donald’s.  And only his loyal henchmen (and children, much the same) will appear at his eventual funeral, which, unlike those haters who wish him ill, I trust won’t be any sooner than necessary.

FALL FUNDRAISER

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For over a decade, Robert S. Becker's independent, rebel-rousing essays on politics and culture analyze overall trends, history, implications, messaging and frameworks. He has been published widely, aside from Nation of Change and RSN, with extensive credits from OpEdNews (as senior editor), Alternet, Salon, Truthdig, Smirking Chimp, Dandelion Salad, Beyond Chron, and the SF Chronicle. Educated at Rutgers College, N.J. (B.A. English) and U.C. Berkeley (Ph.D. English), Becker left university teaching (Northwestern, then U. Chicago) for business, founding SOTA Industries, a top American high end audio company he ran from '80 to '92. From '92-02, he was an anti-gravel mining activist while doing marketing, business and writing consulting. Since then, he seeks out insight, even wit in the shadows, without ideology or righteousness across the current mayhem of American politics.

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