But Then Reality Screwed Up All His Plans…

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So, in a grim reprise of the old line The Show Must Go On, DJT, at least for the moment, still insists on at least one episode of his perverse victory-lap-from-hell/dance-with-death…because, among other things, it’s all he really knows how to do.

It’s not like his response to the actual crises reality delivered to his front door has been any different.

Trump, in real time, has reacted with demented, free-association rantings, alternately insisting his haphazard, stumblebum performance is perfect, while whining about the unfairness of it all…to himself. I think once, maybe twice, he expressed some measure of sympathy before swinging back to what really matters, Donald J. Trump.

The president of greed. Narcissus has nothing on him.

Maybe that’s what he means by his good genes.

Meanwhile, for the rest of us, it’s hang on, and good luck. We’re on our own for the next six/seven months, and heaven forbid, four years after that…

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