The one thing that finally made me hate Trump

When I throw away old stew in a carrier bag, as I’m tying the handles and hoping none of slop touches my hands, I think of Trump.

But otherwise, for sanity’s sake, I try not to think of him at all. And if I don’t think of him, I don’t hate him. It has worked for me so far.

I live in the UK and there’s only so much long-distance despair I can handle. I give to charity when I can, but I can’t be expected to ingest the slow poison of his thick-headed rhetoric to my own detriment.

However, my hand has finally been forced by footage of the rescheduled White House Correspondents’ Dinner last week when Trump had to congratulate the Wall Street Journal investigative team who exposed him over his close friendship with the convicted paedophile Jeffrey Epstein.

If my husband hadn’t shown the clip to me, I’d still be in a blissful state of feeling nothing at all about Donald Trump. (This is obviously not true. He’s a rapist for gods sakes.)

Those journalists won an award for helping to trigger the Epstein Files and, as they came up to collect it, Trump sat there like Little Jack Horner, thumb jammed blithely in the constitution, telling the adoring audience in his head that he really would run for president again, they’d just see if he didn’t. Everyone between his ears cheered.

During the evening, he also gave one of his speeches (an hour) and got some writers to punch up gags for him, this dinner being, traditionally, a chance for the prez to kick back and laugh at himself. I guess the writers hated him as much as the rest of us because the jokes were bad.

But that wasn’t even it. Because I wasn’t forced to watch him die for a whole hour in front of the most hostile crowd since Peter Kay had a man thrown out of his stadium gig for shouting ‘garlic bread’.

No, it was what he did next.

If you enjoy this post, I’d love it if you’d share it or drop me a heart at the end. It really helps other people to see it. Thanks for supporting me.

Share