Bored by Trump? Too right
BORED with Trump? I am. Bored with worrying about Trump. Bored with his hair, his voice, his ties, his tweets, his name. Bored with the “statesmanlike” frown and the cheesy grin. Bored with his wife, her breasts, her high heels and her fairytale princess hair. Bored with his advisers coming and going through a revolving door: in like Mike Flynn and out like Flynn, the former National Security adviser. Bored with Kellyanne Conway, a velociraptor in a wig.
Bored with stooges in suits whose hands Trump pumps as though they’re in a 1970s crisis-inthe-White House disaster movie. Bored with jokes about him being scared of stairs and germs. Bored with barking press conferences.
At the very least one thought Donald Trump might inject some deal-making can-do into political life. But he’s like a tired, angry toddler, blundering around in a permanent strop. Toddlers grow up. He won’t. Do you realise this nonsense will never end?
I’m also up to here with Ivanka, the smoothy-chops son-in-law and the ghastly weekend place in Florida. If I never hear the phrase “fake news” again it will be too soon. My eyes roll each time some wag makes darkly “humorous” reference to “Trump’s finger on the nuclear button”.
I’m comatose with ennui over the blasted state visit which will go ahead despite the time those look-at-me MPs spent affecting to debate it in the Westminster Hall committee room. Conservative MP Keith Simpson had had enough too. “I’m bored,” he said after hours of soul-crushing tedium. “I hear a tonic bottle being opened in the smoking room.”
I’m contemptuous of the keyboard warriors who think typing witheringly sarcastic remarks about Trump on social media is as brave as parachuting into Occupied France. I’m wearied by Trump’s gaffes, malapropisms and awful howlers and equally bored to sobs by the way they’re seized on by the over-excited and outraged as evidence that this time He Has Gone Too Far. And as for Katy Perry’s Trump and Theresa skeleton palaver at the Brit Awards – whose clonky idea was that? RIP satire.
I’m beyond caring about the President’s p***y grabbing proclivities and women wearing woolly vagina hats in protest. I’m indifferent to punning demo banners (“We Shall Overcomb”… oh please stop). Though, to be fair, the Wenger Out banner that some enterprising Arsenal fan brought to the anti-Trump demonstration in London last Monday was funny.
I’ve heard enough about America’s rust belt and why everyone there loves Trump to bits and more than enough about why the Oscars are going to be all sackcloth and ashes and no after-parties.
Spare me any more about checks and balances and why Trump is or isn’t like Hitler. Could we have a moratorium for, say 24 hours, on mentioning Trump’s name at all? If not then we have another four years of this or eight if we’re really unlucky. Unless he… (darkly humorous face) presses the nuclear button. Oops, sorry, boring myself to death now.