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*Sigh* Back in the saddle again.

5 min read

Something’s happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear   For what it’s worth   Buffalo Springfield

Sweet Jesus, doesn’t 30 months just fly by when you’re having fun? It seems like only yesterday, and not about 28 months ago, when the networks stopped covering the egocentric, self centered, oral masturbation that comprised the average Trump rally. It got so that I was able to stop taking a shower every time I turned off the TV.

But all good things must come to an end. Campaign season is once again on us, which means an increase in face time for the Mandarin Moron. Trump spoke at C-Pac today, which FOX covered live, so I tuned in to watch when I got up. It was either that or Bernie Sanders, and God knows he’ll get his share of air time on MSNBC down the road. Besides, if my beloved Cubbies are in spring training, then it’s time for me to sharpen up my batting eye for the long season ahead.

Trump was, to say the least, totally unhinged at the C-Pac venue today. You could immediately tell, by the way he swung his head from side to side, that there were no prepared remarks, and no teleprompters. This was not a good thing, since Trump unchained is like listening to your grandfather re-fight WWI after Thanksgiving dinner. All-the-past, all-the-time. But, while going through yet another endless marathon of Trump’s “Greatest Shits,” I noticed several things.

For starters, the age spots on his material are starting to show. This should have been a frenzied mob for Trump, like when they throw a nicked cow into a river to keep the piranhas busy while they take the rest of the herd across the river. As GOP strategist Rick Tyler pointed out afterwards, this is no longer C-PAC, since 2016 it has morphed into T-PAC, since Trump hijacked it, just like the rest of the party. But if this rambling, disjointed 90 minute twaddlefest was any indication of things to come, Trump is in trouble.The old lines aren’t working anymore. I heard Trump mention “Crooked Hillary” twice, and “Crooked Hillary’s e-mails” once, and never heard a single voice chant out “Lock Her UP!” WTF is up with that? They used to have to call security up to the stage to protect him every time he mentioned her name, and this time? Crickets. Much like using Nancy Pelosi as the Anti Christ from Cali in 2018, it seems that the thrill is gone.

Since ted Cruz went back to hiding out under his desk in terror of everybody else in the Senate, it isn’t “Lyin’ Ted” anymore. Now it’s “Lyin’ James Comey” instead.  Trump hammered away ceaselessly about Comey and Robert Mueller, but without the expected results. There was scattered booing, but nowhere near the thunderous wall of noise that used to greet even the mention of those names. He again mentioned the “13 angry Democrats” investigating him, which was greeted largely by silence, and spoke of Mueller being conflicted because of a “business dispute” with Trump years ago. Mueller beefed about his dues at one of Trump’s schlock golf courses, since when does that become a multi million dollar lawsuit? But again, it didn’t generate all that great of a response.

Trump is still smarting over his inauguration crowd size, specifically the fact that it could have fit into the banquet facility at a Golden Corral. He railed against the medias reporting of the size of the crowd, and I turned to Teri and said, “Better that than the size of something else, Mushroom Dick.” He even promised to supply some new, hopefully better photo shopped pictures to some conservative hack with a web cam in his basement to air at 10 tonight for an exclusive expose.

But the most stunning thing to me was the crowd “response” to his mindless prattling. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I last had to suffer through one of these things, but to my practiced eye and ear, the contrast was stark.The timing was off. In his 2016 rallies, it was almost like going to a 70’s band revival concert. The crowd knew all of the lyrics, and sang along, normally building the applause to a crescendo before the line was even through being sung. How many times did you used to hear thunderous chants of “Lock Her UP!” immediately after the mention of Hillary’s name, before Trump had even finished the sentence? In his C-PAC speech today, there were too many times for me to count, where he finished a line that was supposed to bring the house down, only to stand there, expectantly turning his head from side to side, until the crowd finally figured out that they were supposed to actually do something here.

Trump felt it too. Grizzled, veteran Trump watcher that I am, with the therapy bills to prove it, I could tell early on that he had picked up on the disconnect. In the past, when Trump would let go with a real corker, and the applause was deafening, he would step back from the podium and pace a bit, clapping his hands gleefully at his apparent success. There was none of that today, mainly because he didn’t generate the massive response. Gone too was that smarmy, shit eating grin that he would display after he just sneaked a knee into somebody’s nuts, and the crowd roared its approval. In desperation, Trump even hauled out a new moniker, referring to congressman Adam Schiff as “Shifty Schiff.” The line generated a nice response, but not a raucous one, and no sudden chant of “Shifty schiff! Shifty Schiff!” Back to the drawing board methinnks.

Now, maybe I’m making too much of this. Maybe because it’s been so long since I’ve been exposed to a full body immersion into the toxic sludge of a Trump rally. But it was specifically because of that time span, and the obvious differences, that I picked up on it so easily. This should have been a home run appearance for Trump. He didn’t throw red meat to the base, he hacked pieces off of a live cow and tossed it out there. And for once, there was no Night-of-the-Living-Dead feeding frenzy. Who knows? Maybe Trombie nation needs some spring training too, but if this is what the next 20 months are going to be like, His Lowness isn’t going to feel anywhere near the thrills and chills that he used to get from these things.

Copies of President Evil, and the sequel, President Evil II, A Clodwork Orange are still sitting around collecting dust, and Amazon is starting to send me nasty e-mails. And what better time to get reacquainted with the roller coaster that was the 2016 election cycle than before the release of the final volume of the trilogy, President Evil III, All the Presidents Fen.

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