Something happened inside his head. When he took his TV act on the road in the Republican primaries. Something unexpected. When, instead of ratings and reviews, he started getting cheers and votes. He hadn’t anticipated how great it would make him feel.
WHAT it would make him feel.
He felt loved.
Not feared, respected, merely tolerated because money could hopefully be made. Not used.
Donald Trump felt loved. Maybe for the first time in his life.
“They love me, Melania,” he told his wife as she packed her bag to get away. “Did you see them, hear the way they cheered?” Melania was gone and he looked for his pills. Reached for his phone.
Too bad his father wasn’t here to see this.
Donald Trump isn’t the first entertainer to mistake applause for love. To become addicted to that feeling. To think it’s real.
He isn’t even the first entertainer to occupy the White House. Bonzo’s scene partner preceded him. But Ronald Reagan had a square kind of cool. He never came across as craven.
This can’t end well.
Not a pretty sight. And not the only thing wrong with Donald J Trump. His delusion about the size of his inaugural crowd, forced upon the early suffering Sean Spicer and insisted upon in private, indicates that he is also, well, delusional.
But a lot of the biggest messes President Rancid Combover has gotten himself into … and several of his worst self-induced tweet shitstorms … have stemmed from his complete and utter inability to admit error.
Like most good narcissists (even the cagiest ones) Little Donnie just can’t do it. “I know it looks like I have my hand in the cookie jar, Mom, but it was Jeff Sessions’ fault. I just had my arm out and he put the cookie jar around it.”
No matter how high the professional or personal stakes … and they are exceptionally high regarding his neoNazi and white supremacist supporters … Trump can’t make himself concede that he said or did something wrong. If he is talked into later statements that allow for at least the possibility of error – as he was on speech two regarding Charlottesville – the psychological pressure for him to go back on the admission is unbearably high.
Trump’s self-immolating press statements yesterday were an example of narcissism in a dither. Yesterday (August 15, 2017) was also possibly – we can only hope – the day he finally, fatally, screwed the pooch.
I’ll take my anti-nausea pill and watch FOX tonight. Look for which, if any, GOP politicians come to his defense. But, if the what-the-President-actually said-meant to say-was trying to say defender cupboard is bare, that’s it. The day when wheels start to turn behind the scenes … impeachment wheels, 25th Amendment wheels, or just old-fashioned Amish-style shunning wheels … to give Trump a not very friendly push.
If that happens, then stick a fork in the Mussolini wannabe’s fat ass. He’s done.