This week I diagnosed myself with a condition that I’m calling TAD, or Trump Addiction Disorder. The symptoms are that anytime you access any form of media, the first, second, and third things you want to know about are what kind of crazy shit Donald Trump has done now. Or the moment you get into any conversation that’s even vaguely political, you want to steer it toward Trump in order to wallow in his nuttiness.
Getting the Republican nomination for president has given him a platform from which to push back the frontiers of assholishness, to scale previously unthought-of heights of douchebaggery, and he has not fumbled the opportunity. With every day that passes he achieves new personal bests, and thus new world records. He is the Katie Ledecky of angry orange gasbags, the Muhammad Ali of political asininity.
I’m a little worried about the withdrawal, which seems certain to begin November 8. (There may be some tapering off as he fulminates about having the election stolen from him, but the media will lose interest in that after awhile. You would think.) I’m also worried that when I walk into the voting booth there will be a little voice in my head telling me to vote for him so the circus can continue.
I think I’m strong enough to resist that, but I find myself wondering how many actual Trump voters are similarly motivated. It’s the only rational reason to support him that I can think of.
It’s also possible that when he loses Trump will start his own new TV network where he will conduct a shadow presidency, telling us every day how much better of a job he would be doing than Hillary. That might work out best for everyone. Donald gets to pretend he matters; we get the entertainment value without, you know, the economic catastrophe and nuclear war. Fingers crossed.