Most of us shudder at the reckless misadventures of our vainglorious president who’s chafing at the bit, so tightly tethered to the post of being “presidential.” But all too often, he manages to break free in predictably capricious ways to rattle us with his kaleidoscopic antics, dizzying about-faces and seriously slippery infirmities of time and mind — all distractions, transparently, to keep his unimpeachable delusions of infallibility intact.
As always, the shameless abandon of his sycophants’ applause speaks volumes for the degradation of their tastes. For his shrinking contingent of fawners still must revel in his chimerical penchant to say so much in so few words — pure monosyllabic eloquence of uninstructed kindergartenese — indecipherable, drab gibberish.
Endless public scrutiny is at the very heart of upstaging his unprecedented performance. A tireless Congress always wants him to account for something. Messy taxes and unfulfilled campaign promises aside, it's budget time again, time to give to the rich and take from the poor. Robin Hood in reverse — but with a sop of “trickle-down” snugly camouflaged in the impenetrable woods of tangled corporate complexities, but visibly simmering in the unctuous fat of pork-barreling.
However, what if Trump’s pet tax bill doesn’t pass muster with the Senate? He might still find a way to steal those launch codes and greet our holidays with his tour de force without Congressional interference — a thermal blast bigger than Black Friday. This would certainly shutter his name in an infinity of nuclear dust.
Lewis D. Williams, Jr.