"Krasnov¹ wants to be one of us. Sad."
Is it advancing dementia, tertiary syphilis, the echo chamber of the MAGA cult¹ or a psychosis formed from daddy Fred’s demeaning abuse that has the bloviating, tangerine buffoon wanting to believe he is widely adored?
Every interaction is described as a “deal”. From Trump branding on the grift du jour to the shakedown of Ukraine for access to rare earths to Melania’s limit of one wristy per month.
All trappings must be gilded – Trump Sneakers, gold toilets, pimping the Oval Office into the gaudy despot kitsch of his Trump Tower penthouse.
Perhaps these are the two defining manifestations of Trump’s offal bucket of personality defects. The craving for attention, the tedious braggadocio masking his insecurities, the torching of all proprieties, a puerile vulgarian belittling any transgressors of Trumpism or the critics of his ludicrous twaddle…
“… if one cannot have love, one resorts to respect. And when respect is unavailable, one resorts to fear.” (The ‘Shared Psychosis² of Donald Trump and His Loyalists. Scientific American.)
An industry has grown up to try to explain the aberration that is the bloated Caligula. That’s in parallel to a complicit media that sane washes and normalises him. Now Trump’s execrable big birthday bash rudely illustrates how he deceives himself vs how the non-MAGA world sees him.
No bearskins and crimson tunics, no sabres drawn, no prancing, jet black stallions, no choreographed routines of massed, compulsory public devotion, no serried ranks of goose-stepping, chisel-jawed Schutzstaffel, banners aloft and torches aflame. Instead, there was Tupperware party numbers shuffling along in combat fatigues looking as though they’d rather be having their nutsacks put through a mangle. Trump’s “losers and suckers” are compelled to display fealty to a draft dodging coward while accompanied in part by Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Fortunate Son which “speaks to the unfairness of class and the children of the wealthy being able to avoid the draft” .
On the reviewing stand a clearly decrepit grandpa Trump came close to nodding off. Chief bender Pete Hegseth wondered if he could sneak a pull from his hip flask of 1792 Full Proof, Marco Rubio yawned and Melania fantasised about the 3rd infantryman from the left standing to attention in her private quarters.
The face you make when the last sausage roll has been taken from the servo pie warmer
Trump loves ostentation, showy displays of his supposed wealth and power yet the most powerful military ever known had Bonespurs VonDraftdodger’s craving for adoration turn it into a laughing stock.
* * * * *
¹Former KGB officer Alnur Mussayev claimed that Trump was recruited as an asset for Moscow in the 1980s, code name “Krasnov”.
²The ‘Shared Psychosis’ of Donald Trump and His Loyalists. Scientific American. “The leader, hungry for adulation to compensate for an inner lack of self-worth, projects grandiose omnipotence – while the followers, rendered needy by societal stress or developmental injury, yearn for a parental figure.”
This article was originally published on Grumpy Geezer
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That little video is so sad. A pathetically diminished would-be king and his stoicly bored consort. I saw that at one stage he stood and saluted. I know the Seppos think it’s ok for civilians to salute but for a draft-dodger to do it makes a mockery of the whole respect thing. Better to just hold the hand over the heart, pathetic though that also is.at least you can check it’s still beating.
"Melania’s limit of one wristy per month." Now there's an image I'd rather went swiftly through to the keeper than hang around to be contemplated. Like handling a flyblown sausage. Oozy goozy... poor Melania. I guess the only saving grace would be Trumple Frogskin's prem-ejac... it'd be over in a coupla flicks.
When he turns (if a stroke, galloping dementia or heart attack doesn't get him first) 80 he is going to make Biden look like a 50 year old.
"...Melania’s limit of one wristy per month." The way his mind is crumbling all she will have to do is tell him that she's (crass I know but...) Stormy Daniels and he'll pop on the spot.
Squeaky tanks and out-of-step marching (apparently standard military malicious compliance) along with an ironic choice of music and sod-all spectators. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday prezzie for Cadet Bonespurs (except an extra-special wristy that's sufficient to make him pop his clogs).