Truck Fump

I almost felt sorry for a lot of newspaper editorialists earlier this week who had struggled so hard to ignore the dark cloud that is POTUS 45 when writing about his Afghan strategy he delivered to a waiting world on Monday evening. Almost. But not quite because I knew the Whiner in Chief was in Phoenix, Arizona, later in the week to go through the Looking Glass with the resentful and angry dwarves and gnomes who hang on his every word. 

That behavior Tuesday night is my inspiration for Truck Fump which is my one person crusade to mock tiny hands and a small mind to match until he finally bugs out and quits, which he will do because spoiled brats like him, with a sense of entitlement visible from space, have no idea how to make or to do anything aside from a mess, and themselves as the center of any and all pity parties.  

He has a grievance with everyone about everything and the platform to vent his spleen every day for all the days that remain. And he has his minions in the millions who accept his every pronouncement as Gospel and some practitioners of the New Testament of the Gospel who see him as semi-divine. 

That perspective is another reason why I'm not inordinately fond of religion, since, by their lights, he and they will be in the Heavenly Kingdom for all Eternity and as far as I'm concerned that's an excellent for the rest of us to steer clear of it and to practice in this life. 

As for the Petulant Pantload, eventually, even an accomplished liar like him runs out of stories to tell you about why nothing is going as planned and how none of it is his fault. We're not at the end quite yet, but unlike Palin watching out for Vlad the Impaler from her house, I'm keeping one eye on ours at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue waiting for the vans to show up in the middle of the night. I'm counting the boxes just as you're counting the days, DJT. My money says you'll reach zero first.
-bill kenny