In the grip of a fucking pandemic, that narcissistic, obscene prick in the White House suspended funding to the WHO. Sure, makes sense, he’s been a dangerous asswipe every fucking step of the virus’s tragic trek across America. So why stop now? Please proceed, you Howdy Doody jackass, fuck up something else. That’s all it ever is, right? The shitstorm of the day is never settled; it’s just buried in the next day’s turdgate, a merry-go-round of cruel absurdity that’s killing people.
These days the fool’s pandemic policy seems to be to withhold funding from an international health agency when we’re the biggest friggin’ virus in the world! At the same time, he’s got a boner for May 1—gotta open the goddamn country, strongly, bigly, business as usual, doesn’t matter that 99 percent of the cogs in the Economy Machine have not been tested.
Open wide, America! Fuck testing, BrilloHead’s cutting back on the tremendously shitty testing job he’s already done. And the hell with PPE. My stockpile! Say something nice! So now here’s Trump’s new “Opening Up America Guidelines” to get workers back on Wall Street! He didn’t issue many guidelines to help people survive a deadly disease, or help hospitals and caregivers deal with the onslaught, but the Hall of Fame drop-dead stupid motherfucker will rush out his advice to reopen a yogurt shop when you don’t know how many people around you are infected. You go guvs, get those states open! Tests? Don’t ask, but we have guidelines!
Where I live the bad, scary numbers continue to get bigger, if moderately, 15-20% more a week, slower but still more. Nationally, every day the death total is thousands and always more than the day before, even as the WH briefings say “it’s improving.” So in two weeks, when bonehead’s magic date gets a stiffy and knocks commonsense out of our Republican governor's head, when the numbers are even worse, then we’re supposed to go work and shop and play when lots of us are likely infected, but who knows? Let’s pretend happy time, order shit thusly, play Trump make believe (his head’s permanent residence), and die trying.
Apparently somebody sat Yosemite Sam down and read him the US Constitution, because for now he’s put away his crown. If he can’t order thusly a big nationwide razzamatazz ribbon cutting on May 1, and send thousands more to a terrible death, he’s gotta have something to put his name on. So he’ll find a couple counties in Wyoming or the Dakotas, call them Trump Virus Vanquisher Enterprise Zones, and let those freedom fighters sit together in Cracker Barrel rockers without a mask. Elsewhere today, a couple thousand people needlessly died, and tens of millions are unemployed, while the President diddles his ego and the Chamber of Commerce’s balls.
Whatever the lying, bigoted, conning, draft-dodging, grifting, traitorous, predatory, self-serving peckerhead decides to open up on May 1—and his staff appears resigned to him declaring something free on May Day—his race to “liberate” the states as early as possible, inciting insurrection and openly encouraging goobers to defy life-saving orders, will cost many lives and put even more strain on overworked providers, in order to guarantee hedge fund shitheads make it to the Hamptons this year, while the red-tie clown gets an electoral nookie, if only a quickie.
Any other time the diary title would be shocking if said about a President. With Trump it’s Friday. Sad.