Thursday, December 21, 2017

President Bluto

   He's a crass, craven, calculating carnival barker, a bloated, bombastic, bigoted bully, a petulant preening peacock. He knows nothing about history and less about governance. He's unaware of fourth-grade geography, incapable of understanding basic science, can't comprehend art, and wouldn't know good manners if they punched him in the mouth. It's highly doubtful he ever read a book in his life. He's a tactless, two-faced hypocrite and an oily, overt liar. He's the groper-in-chief, with the mentality of a fifteen-year-old and the temperament of a three-year-old.
   He does have talents. Everyone has some talent for something. He's good at buying things. Who wouldn't be if they started out with $14 million of daddy's money? He's good at declaring bankruptcy and remaining wealthy, as he's done four times and counting. He's good at avoidance-- of taxes, responsibility, blame, work.  But his greatest talent is pushing people around, usually people smaller and weaker than he is. Now that he's-- ugh-- president, that would be just about anyone.
   He has an ego as oversized as it is fragile. He surrounds himself with toadies and sycophants. He has an insatiable need to hear how smart he is, how clever, how grand. He has an insatiable need to tell everyone, to trumpet accomplishments he doesn't have, to praise his own intellect, though he hasn't got an idea that isn't fed to him by Republican oligarchs. He rants insanely and incoherently and believes he's a great orator.
   He's selfish, self-serving, self-absorbed, self-delusional, self-righteous. He established a charitable foundation he uses to buy bric-a-brac for himself to look at when he visits his mansions, including portraits of himself. He watches television incessantly to hear his name mentioned. He gazes lovingly in a mirror when he wakes up in the morning and when he goes to bed at night. When he does, I wonder if he has the guts to admit to himself what a total phony he is.
   He's always angry, always on the attack. He whines constantly about how badly he's treated, how misunderstood he is, though he's never made a single effort to understand anyone else. He throws paper towels to people drowning in a flood.
   A lot of Republicans see him for what he is and can't stand him. His own staff worry about what they should tell him, for he has the attention span of a senile cat and a temper like a blast furnace, and they never know what will set him off or in what direction he'll go. A lot of Republicans have him pegged, and they not only accept it, they applaud it, for he fits their plans perfectly. He's just the man they need to establish their oligarchy. They figure they'll eventually be able to control him; he figures they'll come to love him, or by God they'll taste his wrath.
   In case you aren't old enough to remember, Bluto was a big, ugly, comic strip and cartoon bully, Popeye's nemesis, who eyed his girlfriend, envied his friends, and just plain enjoyed picking on a peaceful little guy, because it made Bluto feel better about himself. He's turning Americans into a laughing-stock; they should be ashamed that Bluto is now their president.

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