We. Are. Fucked.
REPORTER: “Can you say, sir, what metrics you will use to make that decision?”
TRUMP: “The metrics right here [points at empty head]. That’s my metrics. That’s all I can do. I can listen to 35 people. At the end, I’ve got to make a decision. And I didn’t think of it until yesterday, I said, you know, this is a big decision. But I want to be guided, I’m going to be guided by them, I’m going to be guided by our vice president, I’m going to make a decision based on a lot of different opinions. Some will maybe disagree, and some, I’d love to see it where they don’t disagree.”
Glad to see that the guy who wanted to nuke hurricanes, put a moat full of snakes and alligators at the border, and thought the coronavirus would magically go away in April “with the heat” is on the job.
I really hope someone in the Pentagon has had the sense to put a childproof cap on the nuclear football, or our slow-motion Armageddon could get even worse somehow.
Sure, whatever. Reopen the country. Lead your voters to the slaughter. What could possibly go wrong?
Is Trump still chafing your arse-cheeks? Then Dear Fcking Lunatic: 101 Obscenely Rude Letters to Donald Trump and its boffo sequels Dear Prsident A**clown: 101 More Rude Letters to Donald Trump and Dear F*cking Moron: 101 More Letters to Donald Trump by Aldous J. Pennyfarthing are the pick-me-up you need! Reviewers have called these books “hysterically funny,” “cathartic,” and “laugh-out-loud” comic relief. And they’re way, way cheaper than therapy.
In contrast to Donald Trump’s shambolic bearing, appearance, and comportment, Aldous J. Pennyfarthing is a natty hail-fellow-well-met and a gentleman.