At this point, a little under one-eighth the way through the natural course of the Trump administration, I admit I’ve gotten a little numb from time to time. Without a single legislative success in five months — and the gutting of Obamacare looking pretty iffy right now — it’s been tempting to move on from the posture of paranoid readiness and onto life’s other dumpster fires. Now that we know just how staggering the president’s ineptitude is, it can feel like anything that might truly put the Republic in peril is probably just gonna implode well before we get there. I was as bummed as anyone that Democrats haven’t won any of the special House elections this year — although you do have to remind yourself that each of these districts is unwinnable by design. But at least the picture isn’t going to get any rosier in the near-term for either the Nazis or the sociopaths.
Then this week happened. It started off Sunday night with a dazzling performance by Lil Miss Hot Mess at Hard French’s Pride party. Dressed as Offred from The Handmaid’s Tale, she opened with Leslie Gore’s “You Don’t Own Me,” and then tore into The Gossip’s “Standing in the Way of Control” to whack open a Trump piñata. Considering the flak that Kathy Griffin took for ventriloquizing something many, many Tea Partiers did over and over again vis-a-vis Barack Obama, decapitating the president in effigy is pretty brave. And it rekindled my hatred for Trump like nothing else could. The rest of the week did nothing but stoke the flames to keep the fire going.
The last 24 hours. pic.twitter.com/InK2gqFFOU
— Mazel Tov Cocktail (@AdamSerwer) June 30, 2017
For all the terabytes of angst Homo sapiens has racked up since Trump announced his candidacy, we’re still not quite getting it. In fact, we’ve been underestimating the true magnitude of his completely irredeemable shittiness as a human being.
This is not about his embarrassingly childish habit of insulting women’s bodies on Twitter. (While inexcusable, that’s basically garden-variety male assholery with a bigger-than-normal amplification.) It’s deeper than that — deeper than even the pathetic, embarrassing displays of self-aggrandizement. It’s not even about stripping everyone of health insurance — or stripping your dead brother’s sick kid of health insurance, not something many people are ever in a position to do. Or fleecing people of their money on a grand scale, which even fewer folks have the opportunity to do.
It’s not even about a habit having no idea what he’s talking about, ever, and reflexively and obviously lying about everything, all the time. Nor is it even the rampant, chaotic incompetence, something that’s only broken here and there by symbolic non-actions to give Trump’s presidency a veneer of authority and purpose. All of this is basically just child’s play, Bush-administration-circa-late-2005 kind of shit.
— The New Yorker (@NewYorker) June 29, 2017
And we’re way, way beyond politely or firmly or exasperatingly pointing out the insuperable hypocrisy of everyone who claims to be a Christian or a “values voter” and who supports or votes along with or fails to condemn Trump unequivocally.
The real question is this: Has Donald Trump, even once, done the right thing? Has there ever been a situation in which he’s chosen to take the high road, or, barring that, at least behaved in a way that delayed immediate gratification for some other interest? Can anybody furnish even a single verifiable anecdote that indicates that, at some stage in his life, Donald Trump possessed a positive trait, or even situational virtue? It’s not that he’s a pig or a sinner or rich prick or a childish braggart with no attention span. It’s that his assholery approaches Antichrist-like proportions. He’s not reliably kind of an asshole; he’s always a spectacular asshole, with the regularity of an atomic clock. At this point, I think it’s fair to conclude that Donald Trump is literally the worst human being who ever existed, and to place the burden of proof on anyone who suggests otherwise.
Combine Trump’s total absence of good qualities with his power and wealth, and, like bleach with ammonia or alcohol with GHB, you have a uniquely toxic stew. Not pigeon-shit-on-a-copper-statue toxic, either. I mean bubonic, radioactive-cesium-dirty-bomb, Andromeda-Strain, left-the-Nair-on-more-than-eight-minutes, choleric-feces, hot-load-in-your-eye plasma. Pearl-clutching about his “unfitness to be president” misses the mark by a mile, and makes a lot of the pearl-clutchers look like mindless defenders of a corrupt Establishment. Donald Trump is much more than simply unfit to lead the country. He’s a friend-less amalgam of 100-percent bad qualities, from his physical repulsiveness to his ruin-it-for-everybody-else-just-because entitlement to his F-minus political judgment. He’s the void.
Can we really limp through another three years and seven months without plunging headfirst into national self-immolation? War is everywhere, a recession is overdue, and Jesus Christ, the NRA has all but fired on Fort Sumter. Trump thinks being president is the same as being an omnipotent tyrant and that declining to pummel everyone in the face with his omnipotence represents a fatal display of weakness. He hated Barack Obama because he thought Obama made a poor tyrant. For the billionth time: This is not normal. Sooner or later, a situation will arise where Trump’s reflex to conduct himself in the worst possible way at all times will do irreparable harm.
The president is the worst human being who ever existed, and so far, we have gotten very, very lucky.