The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

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Give me your Anglo-Saxons, your moneyed few, your cuddled masses yearning to invest, the pampered rich of your teeming shore. Send these, the Christian, righteous free to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

Well, what did you expect when we voted in a playboy billionaire TV reality show huckster? You thought maybe a compassionate conservative? A thousand points of light? You figured this narcissistic braggart liar would reach down to the poor, the huddled masses here and beyond? Did you actually buy what he was selling? You think maybe immigrants would be the new Apprentice?

What he’s selling is a country that prefers whites over people of color, men over women, rich over poor, the powerful over the weak. He’s not interested in equality. Or democracy. Or the rule of law. He’s promoting the law of the jungle, dog eat dog, lie through your teeth, attack those who disagree with you. He’s Old White School, through and through. His vision for America is a sea to shining sea with Trump Towers stretching to the farthest horizon. Gold is his color, not purple mountains majesty. He’s unread, he’s undisciplined, he’s mean as a junkyard Doberman. He’s a racist, a misogynist, an elitist, a greedy little leech and he’s good, very good, at self-promotion. He may not fool all of the people all of the time, but he’s hoodwinked enough to get himself elected dictator of America.

He promotes conspiracy theories, dismisses science and facts, mocks anyone who gets in the way of his reflection in his mind’s mirror. He is without policy, without ideas, without thoughtful analysis, without much of anything outside the narrow range of his greed and his ambition. He claims to be the Master of the Deal, he purports to be one of the richest men in the world, he brags that his brain is one of the biggest. He admires dictators and thugs.

But in truth, as if anyone can handle the truth anymore, he’s a cheap thug, a fraud and a phony, a man who declares bankruptcy then brags at the savings, a rich guy who wouldn’t want you to see his balance sheet, a high stakes gambler with someone else’s money and a politician without a clue.

They say a country gets the leader it deserves. What a wretched state of affairs….

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Fat shaming is apparently back in vogue judging by Trump’s mockery of a man he thought was protesting him. Told him he had a serious weight problem and pointed him out to the mob in Manchester. Told him to start exercising.

I guess it’s ironic the guy turned out to be an ardent Trump supporter. Didn’t even bother the fellow that his idol had called him out for obesity. Melania is running that anti-bullying program, but apparently it hasn’t done much to curb her charming husband’s propensity for everything from racist tweets to fat shaming. Charity starts in the home apparently.

What interested me about this latest episode from the Bully Pulpit wasn’t the act itself but the victim’s response. He loves his Trump. Best thing that’s happened to this country, he claimed to a Fox interviewer. Digest that for a nano second or three. He’s just been called a Fattie by the most powerful man in the world, his President, the guy who claims to be unifying the citizens of this country, the same country he’s making Great Again, and he’s unfazed by being singled out for ridicule and shame before an audience of thousands, soon to be millions. Doesn’t alter his opinion one little bit, no sir, who cares if the powerful use their office to reach down to the little man and kick him in the teeth.

If you wonder, as I do, why this creep of a President isn’t despised, much less dropping in support, well, here’s a peek into the folks who vote for a despot. Some people love the idea of a boot on the neck of their enemies. And apparently they need someone to tell them who their enemies are. Hillary’s a crook, says the guy who won’t show his tax returns. Send those four foreign looking women back where they came from, says the fellow whose wife and family are here on bogus visas. Everybody look at that fat slob up in the top row of this auditorium, cries the man in the big suit. Exercise, buddy, shouts the sedentary fuhrer. Notice how that Muslim woman (who was a Gold Star mother) isn’t allowed to speak, growls the guy who evaded the draft with phony bone spurs. It’s enough to make an intelligent person weep.

Fascism looks a lot like this, you ask me and I know you didn’t. It’s not just the guy with the megaphone and the daily threats and continuous insults. It’s the people who will stick with him. Even after he attacks them or what they once held dear. That may be the serious weight problem and it has nothing to do with obesity.

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If you were the King of the Deal Makers, the Top Gun real estate developer in the entire bloody world, a man who could sell hot dogs at a PETA convention, you too might be looking for the next great challenge. He’s already been a reality TV star. He pandered his way into being THE rich playboy jetsetter of New York City. Oh, and he became President of the United States….

What’s the next act for a man whose self-esteem needs a constant fuel supply? Sure, he could declare war on Iran or bomb the bejabbers out of the Taliban. He can start up the nuclear arms war again. He could even drive the country into a recession with enough time to declare victory when the economy started back up. But that’s not enough! Any pedestrian president could do that. What he needs is a Blockbuster. He needs the equivalent of a moon landing. He needs, in short, something biglier than anyone ever imagined. Ever dreamed even.

He needs to buy Greenland. Trump Tower right there at the foot of the melting glaciers. Couple more years and room for a 36 hole golf course. A resort for the ages. Ice-a-Lago! And yeah, I know the Danes don’t want to sell it, but they’re dealing with the guy who wrote the book on the Art of the Deal. Okay, okay, he didn’t write it, a man he hired wrote it, but nevertheless …. If the dude who drove casinos into bankruptcy and still has his name on hotels around the world with backing from major fiduciary firms, if that hombre can’t pull off the real estate deal of the century, I ask you, who can?

All that land, think of it, slowly melting off into the oceans, leaving behind acreage for condos, hotels, stripmalls, industrial areas, military bases, an entire country open to naked plundering. And what better country to do the plundering than the Yew Ess Aye. For all we know there might be coal under those mountains of ice. We’ll bring it back, yes we will, yes we can. Greenland will be green once again. Greenback of dollar, if nothing else. Give the man four more years, he’ll buy Antarctica too!

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We all live in La-La Land, a mystical place where anything can be true, even total opposites. Facts grow on magical bean stalks and everything is fair and balanced. Even if it’s not. The President went to El Paso and Dayton this week, not, he made clear, for photo ops, but for visiting the victims of two mass murderers. Course, he made a video of him with the staff of the hospitals, claimed the victims warmly received him, probably helped in their healing process. It turns out the victims wouldn’t let him near them. Not one in that El Paso hospital would allow him in their room. If they survive, you know who’ll take credit for their rapid and complete recovery.

The best brag by the Healer, even better than boasting about the size of his crowds in El Paso vs. Beto’s, was the photo op of him with the kid of deceased parents shot to death, giving the thumbs up and smirking that self-satisfied grin of his. If you were grieving over a heinous crime like this, dozens dead, victims fighting for their lives in rooms nearby, wouldn’t this guy have the words of comfort to unite us all, to speak to us of healing and remembrance, to offer up sympathy? Well, maybe not. Bullies aren’t really admired for those traits and this bully lives in his own mirror.

We’ve moved so far from distasteful with this guy, we might as well root for our food, grunt around the nightly burnbarrels then shelter down in cardboard boxes behind the abandoned big box stores. If you don’t feel like a refugee yourself yet, you aren’t paying attention. “I think my rhetoric … brings people together,” Trump said before visiting Ohio and Texas. His critics are “political people … trying to make points.”

Thumbs up, Big Guy! Smile for the camera! And you want another four years???
Tr

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