Finally, the sick felon, racist, sexual predator and garbage man lurches and teeters to the finish line. “Swollen, orange and sweaty,” ever more vicious and unmoored, he raves to half-empty arenas: Democrats are “demonic,” reporters should be shot, hate is a love fest, fluoride is evil, Pelosi is a bitch, the future will be “nasty.” America is so done with it. Charlie Pierce: “Dear God, can’t this shit just be over already?” Yes, soon. Please vote.
Trump’s long plunge into the gutter, his “psychological decompensation,” has quickened since his “fascist-themed freakshow” at Madison Square Garden, with its cabal of “master-race misfits”: Techno authoritarian Elmo Musk, warning “America can’t afford a ‘C-Word’ in the White House” to earn his gig as Czar of Cost-Cutting; Tucker Carlson, screeching to newly free Steve Bannon (the best people) that abortion is causing hurricanes ’cause, “You can’t participate in human sacrifice without consequences”; racist “jackwad” Tony Hinchcliffe, who’s “joked” the “best part of having a retarded child is not having to buy it Christmas gifts”; dead-eyed Stephen Goebbels, raging against those “on the wrong side of not being American enough.”
Sidney Blumenthal noted the sordid spectacle highlighted “the bigotry, cruelty, stupidity, and vulgarity that are Trumpism.” It also echoed “early Hitler” with its “bellowing obscenities, racist sneers and violent threats,” more chaotic Munich beer hall Brownshirts than the disciplined storm troopers of Nazi rallies that Thomas Mann dubbed “an immense wave of eccentric barbarism.”
While minion Steven Cheung insists Trump is “the greatest orator in political history” and we’re all too “stupid” to recognize his “achievements,” the “not-normal” rhetoric and bizarre unraveling – yes this is a real photo – have prompted questions from even supporters: “It is hard to overstate how terrible morale is inside of this campaign.”
It’s also sparked creativity, with satirical statues popping up in Philly, Boston, Phoenix, DC, Detroit, Madison, Portland OR. The guys who put the faux bronze turd on Pelosi’s desk to honor Jan. 6 heroes also made a huge hand gripping a Charlottesville-style Tiki torch to fete “Trump and the very fine people he boldly stood to defend.” And they erected a Trump statue “In Honor of a Lifetime of Sexual Assault,” one hand obscenely curled, quoting him: “I just start kissing them. When you’re a star, they let you do it.” (Sadly, it was quickly beheaded). As part of a “Crooked and Obscene” tour around swing states, others suspended a massive, naked, 6,000-pound Trump from a crane. Madison residents said it’s “bringing people together – We all came together to point and laugh.”
Still, the orange ghoul keeps trudging to bedraggled, half-filled “rallies.” In Georgia, he was introduced by moronic Herschel Walker, now in glasses to look smarter, which must be why, right after Trump puts RFK Jr.’s brain worm in charge of health care, he’s gonna put Walker in charge of a new wrap-around nuclear missile shield, “Trump Announces Dumbest Person You Know Will Lead Missile Defense.”
Walker: “It is time to vote for my friend and your friend Donald Trump Jr…Donald Trump…Jonald J. Trump.” Mindless cheers all around. Trump babbles: “Where the hell is Biden? What in hell happened to that guy?…If I don’t win this thing after all this talk I’m in trouble – will you please just go and vote?…We stand on the verge of the four greatest years in American history…It’s going to be so much fun.
It’ll be nasty a little bit at times, but it’s going to be something…When I say insane asylums and Doctor Hannibal Lecter, does anybody know? They go crazy. They say, oh, he brings up these names. Well, that’s genius…Silence of the Lambs. Who the hell else would even remember that? I have a great memory.” Still, many leave early.
In his final, slurring, inglorious days, he’s mused that in 2020 he “should have just stayed in office, because we did so well.” He pantomimed performing oral sex on a microphone while ranting at it. He called Liz Cheney “a very dumb individual” he envisioned “standing with nine barrels shooting at her.” He called Harris “a dumb person,” suggesting, “Put Mike Tyson in the ring with Kamala.” He threatened to “hit back” at Michelle Obama, because “she said bad about me.”
Mid-mumble, he suddenly realized, “I won’t be doing this anymore…After today, this is, I’m just thinking…” Mid-somnolent fugue state, he blurted, “I’m a pretty smart guy, I have genetic…Fast race horses produce fast race horses. But I’m a very…I’m smart. I’m like…I tell this story. Thank you.” A whistleblower “released the information on the 18, on the 800,000 cobs plus.” Nancy Pelosi is “a bad person, she’s an evil sick crazy b…”, mouthes the word “bitch.” The crowd brays at his awesome strategy with women voters repulsed by him. J.D. Vance follows in classy lock-step. “Tomorrow we’re gonna take out the trash,” he said in his final speech, “and its name is Kamala Harris.”
Meanwhile, officials are better prepped this time around – Pennsylvania has warned “anyone who thinks it’ll be fun to interfere in Tuesday’s elections, fuck around and find out – you can have your fun in a jail cell” – and pundits, former Trumpers and a spineless media are finally, finally, what were they waiting for reminding America the real madman is far viler behind closed doors than any of us knew. For the 7,846th time, the bleak message goes out: “When someone tells you who they are, believe them.”
Tragically, rage at America’s funding of and complicity in Israel’s genocide in Gaza continues to fester; the results in swing states like Michigan, with large Muslim populations, remain uncertain. On that painful score, John Oliver offers a thoughtful, impassioned plea to vote blue, and then keep fighting. Overall, notes a broad consensus, America wants the election, the MAGA horrors, the hell of Trump to be over “to return to a normal we almost can no longer imagine.” Some cite Godfrey Reggio’s 1982 visual tone poem Koyaanisqatsi, scored by Philip Glass. In Hopi, it means “life in turmoil, life out of balance, a state that calls for another way of living.”
In glad anticipation, activist and filmmaker Michael Moore wrote a “Dear John” letter to Donald John. “How are you? Are you doing okay? You don’t seem to be doing okay,” he begins. After suggesting Trump “lay off the the amphetamines,” he notes, “It seems like you are getting ready to try to steal another election,” a move he calls “pathetic.” “Donald, are you the biggest loser?” he asks, citing how many millions of votes he’s lost every election by: “They weren’t illegal, Donald.
They weren’t ‘made up’ votes. That’s how much people don’t like you.” After listing everyone he maligns – lesbians, immigrants, Blacks, Swifties, the Deep State, his own peeps – and noting they don’t like him either, he declares, “I’m showing you the door, Donald. I don’t know if you can figure out how to open it, but I promise you: There are tens upon tens upon tens of millions of us who will open it for you.” In the same spirit, author and analyst Clarissa Pinkola Estés urges Americans to “please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times,” or losing hope. “It does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace,” she writes, “but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.” Vote.
