Maybe you’d better sit down for this one. According to a report by Politico, corned-beef dirigible Donald Trump, a skill-free inheritance baby with a virtually unbroken lifelong track record of incompetence and failure, has found that running the United States government is a tougher job than lending his name to mail-order steak delivery scams run by other people. Because he is a world-historically stupid idiot who could not tell the difference between his face and his ass even if they weren’t identical to each other, this has come as quite a shock to him.
“Being president is harder than Donald Trump thought,” begins the article, neatly capturing the blithe, criminal ignorance that characterizes both Trump himself and the many dozens of millions of morons who thought he should be the leader of the free world. Yes, being the president is a harder job than Donald Trump would expect, because Donald Trump had never previously held an actual job, because actually, spending your inheritance on a succession of failed cons is not an actual job.
None of the revelations in here are all that surprising, if you’ve paid attention at any point in the more than 40 years Trump has spent as a professional horse’s ass marginally enriching himself off a succession of sleazy branding schemes. The fun is in the wording. Our new president occupies a wild outer range of blundering, arrogant stupidity, far beyond that typically euphemized in newspaper-ese, and the effort to describe the former truthfully and accurately—but without using such frank and impolite words as “stupid” and “ignoramus” and “spray-tanned fart balloon”—very nearly breaks the latter.
The president’s last gig was as the ornamental figurehead of a penny-ante hustling operation run by his hare-brained children—who even in their vacuity knew better than to let him handle any responsibility more sophisticated than ogling the Miss Universe contestants.
The transition from that to being the president “has been tough on him.” Doing things that you are not qualified to do is tough! Who could have predicted that this would be a challenge for a butter-soft septuagenarian nincompoop?
I love this article so much. Nearly every sentence contains some marvel of delicacy. The new president “often asks simple questions about policies, proposals and personnel.” When confronted with details, he “has been known to quickly change the subject” or direct questions to one of his chief advisers. His aides “joke that they wish their boss would spend more time at his Mar-A-Lago estate.” How many ways can you avoid saying that the president is a bumbling, pillow-fisted shit-for-brains, in a story about that exact fact?
The President of the United States of America is too stupid to participate in discussions held expressly for his benefit. That is what “some NSC staff” have said, here. Talking to him is a waste of time, because he’s literally incapable of grasping what is being talked about, and he just gets mad, like a baby. Like a big red baby with a sensitive heinie.
It’s not all bad times and tantrums for Mongo, though.
For all his frustrations, Twitler has reveled in the trappings of the presidency. He has taken a liking to the Oval Office, where he spends much of his time working. Following a recent gathering of business leaders, he brought the group into the storied room and showed them around.
Sometimes he wanders around his office, pecking at the shiny stuff, like a fucking bird.
“Better to get your news directly from the president,” Republican congressman Lamar Smith said last month. “In fact, it might be the only way to get the unvarnished truth.”
You may call that sentiment Orwellian, but nine out of ten Republicans would call it common sense: A new poll from Emerson College finds 90 percent of Republicans believe that the Trump administration is “truthful”—while less than 10 percent say the same about the news media.
Republicans’ nearly unanimous trust in the Trump White House—and contempt for the Fourth Estate—means that, on the whole, voters have more faith in the president: Forty-nine percent call the Trump administration truthful, 48 percent say the opposite; for the media, those numbers are 39 and 53, respectively.
So it seems the reason Herr Twitler cannot stop screaming, all day and all of the night, on his twit machine, and even at the National Prayer Breakfast, about Arnold Schwarzenegger, is because when NBC selected the Austrian actor as Mongo’s replacement on Celebrity Apprentice, it spurned Mongo’s own choice—his longtime fuck-toy, daughter Lolita Mongo.
The shitgibbon badly wanted his daughter, Lolita, to take over the job hosting Celebrity Apprentice after NBC severed ties with him following his campaign-trail racist comments about Mexican immigrants.
Lolita Mongo, along with her brothers, Uday and Qusay, had been mentors and judges on the show. Mongo thought Lolita would be the ideal candidate.
Schwarzenegger has contemplated various responses to Mongo’s unrelenting unsanity. One such is . . . interesting.
When the ratings came in lower than those of his predecessor, Twitler, the then-president-elect, struck out twitlerly. “Wow, the ratings are in, and Arnold Schwarzenegger got ‘swamped’ (or destroyed) by comparison to the ratings machine, DJT,” Twitler twitted. “So much for….being a movie star — and that was season 1 compared to season 14. Now compare him to my season 1. But who cares, he supported Kasich & Hillary.”
“I said, ‘Let’s sit on it for an hour,’ ” Schwarzenegger says, blowing on his gruel. But then he had an idea. “I called my assistant and said, ‘I think what we really should do is request a meeting and go back to New York.’ ” He pauses for maximum impact. “And then we just smash his face into the table.”
Schwarzenegger’s laugh fills the cafe like a small nuclear explosion.
You’d have these roadside restaurants overlooking the tea fields. There’d be a river running through the restaurant itself, and there’d be these fish, these carp, that would be running through. You’d pick the fish. They’d grab it for you and fry it up, and the skin would be real crispy. They just served it with a bed of rice. It was the simplest meal possible, and nothing tasted so good.