June 1, 2020 (In The Year of The Trump Virus)

June 1, 2020 (In The Year of The Trump Virus)

It's fascinating to watch President Virus self-destruct in such a fashion that is not a surprise whatsoever.  He is a child that one tells not to touch the flame, and you turn your back on him, and there he is with both hands in the blaze.  I can't imagine how exhausting it must be to be a journalist and have to write about him.  Easily provoked, and since he's trapped in the White House (in theory), he is being poked by a long stick while he's in the cage growling against these advisors, family, and god who knows who else who choose to be with this piece of shit.  I can't imagine a Hell that is worse than spending social or private time with this attention addict.  I get the idea that Republicans believe that if they keep their head down and get stuff passed in the house and senate, it will be worth it. Even with that thinking, how low can a human go with smelling their asses?  How long will it take from now to when he's hanging upside down in some gas station near the White House?

On a personal level, I have work to do, with even a deadline, yet, this oxygen sucker of what some suspect is or was a man is dragging all of us into a mixture of mud and shit.  I'm not particularly eager to get my clothes dirty for such rotting pounds of flesh, AKA President Virus.  Any showbiz figure who comes to his inauguration with the Stones' "Heart of Stone" as his intro music was clearly not a good sign for the next three-and-a-half years.   Flush him and his entire world down the toilet.  I prefer his golden toilet if you don't mind.  -Tosh Berman