David Brooks of the New York Times brings some happy news:
From all we know so far, Trump didn’t do it because he is a Russian agent, or for any malevolent intent. He did it because he is sloppy, because he lacks all impulse control, and above all because he is a 7-year-old boy desperate for the approval of those he admires.
Well, that’s a relief. The president of United States really isn’t an active Russian intel asset. He’s just an adorable little toehead trying to please daddy.
Brooks’ observation is far from original. It’s close to universal. But it doesn’t help. Because Himself’s still getting PDBs. He’s still got launch codes. He’s still like, president (and I do mean “like”).
And, because he sought the presidency to fill the unfillable hole where most of us put the few shreds of self-esteem we did get in childhood, he can’t just walk away. Hell, he can’t even allow himself to see that what he did was a genuine DefCon 1 fuckup.
As for the hope that there may be some institutional remedy for our seems-like-long, national nightmare, abandon that shit, all ye who enter here. So long as Himself’s reign holds the promise of killing poor people, the Esteemed Colleauges down the street will remain
But I think I may have hit upon a solution.
Years ago, my friend Steve Winn came up with a product with which you may be acquainted. It’s a line of novelty key chains called “In Your Pocket,” each with six buttons that, when pushed, play catch phrases of popular characters. The original, “Cajun in Your Pocket,” has an old fellow from down the bayou saying things like, “Aiiieee!” and “We gon’ pass a good time, cher.”
With the success of “Cajun,” Steve went on to create a whole line of the goofy things, getting licenses from some of the oddest people you can imagine.
This morning, while torturing myself with the news of the day, I was suddenly struck by a brilliant inspiration, one which, quite possibly, could cure our praise-addicted C in C and get him to comfortably leave office, allowing the rest of us a week or so of normal breathing and heart rate before facing the fresh hell of President Pence.
I’ve asked Steve to make a one-off model of his famous toy for use by the current leader of the free world: Fred Trump in Your Pocket. It would have six phrases Himself never heard as a child, things like, “Good job, son,” “We’re proud of you” and “I love you” in his father’s voice.
Believe me, not only will those bitty thumbs never need to tweet again, the man will no longer have to occupy the comfy chair in the Oval to prove how wonderful he is.
We could probably get rid of him just by taking it away for a second with the promise that we’ll return it as soon as he signs this resignation letter.
Still waiting to hear back from Steve.
Update: Steve got back to me. Asks if anyone can do Fred’s voice.