President Donald Trump had a manic episode on national television Wednesday night during which he projectile vomited lies at a national audience. As the spectacle progressed, his volume grew louder, his speed grew faster, and his falsehoods grew more egregious. In fact, it may have set new world records for lunatic, mendacious vapidity.
From a political perspective, the president’s intentions were as clear as his results were a failure. Trump and his team of deranged Christmas Elves thought an unhinged remake of Bad Santa was just the thing his plummeting ratings needed. But his used-car-salesman-on-coke demeanor sent a message of desperation; his efforts to command people to believe him rather than their own lived experiences very likely compounded the collective unease with this particular moment in U.S. history.
From a psychological perspective, it offered a textbook case of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ theory of the stages people go through as they grapple with impending mortality. Trump displayed not just one but all three of the first stages observed by the psychiatrist in dying subjects: denial, anger and bargaining. He denied reality. He ranted angrily. He promised checks of $1,776 each to every member of the military, even though he, as president, has no authority to independently do so. And, as it turns out, of course, he hadn’t. He simply renamed a payment already going to members of the military as a housing supplement in order to get credit for it. He also suggested tariffs were a bonanza that would produce more such gifts even though, as every economist knows, they are actually one of the biggest tax hikes in modern American history.
And in true Trumpian fashion, he promised peacemaking even as U.S. warships menace Venezuela.
He blamed every problem he hasn’t solved on his predecessor, Joe Biden, who, incidentally, left office almost a year ago. He also went after his favorite scapegoat, immigrants. You know, the people who built America. Indeed, he infused the speech with so much anti-immigrant hate speech that, translated into German, it would have been indistinguishable from a Nuremberg rally.
Oh, and he did all this from one of the weirdest sets ever fabricated for the president—the American flag and a presidential flag surrounded by Christmas trees, bows and a plethora of cheesy ornaments to give it that patriotic-holiday-in-Vegas touch.
If you’d otherwise heard an aging relative howling at the moon as Trump did, you would gently remove any sharp implements from their immediate vicinity and start to talk to them about the nice men who would soon be arriving with the butterfly nets. Breaks with reality like we saw Wednesday night usually end with Thorazine drips and soothing elevator music, after all. Admittedly, Trump’s cell will ultimately have to be padded with golden cushioning, and perhaps constructed as an oval to help persuade him he is still president. Still, just as we should with a senescent great uncle, the American people need to get this guy some help—to keep a close eye on him, and keep him away from nuclear launch codes for, like, ever.
Trump’s audience, however, was probably not keeping such a close eye—or watching at all. If they had tuned in for the speech, they probably tuned back out after a few minutes. Because, honestly, who needs this nonsense when they could just as easily be watching TikTok videos of people being reunited with long-lost pets? Of course, the newslessness and needlessness of it all does beg the question of why television networks actually ran this Adderall-infused rant at all.
The speech did have one saving grace, however: It ended. In fact, by Trump’s standards, it was mercifully short. But not sweet. The economy still stinks. America is a laughing stock worldwide. Healthcare costs are about to skyrocket for tens of millions of Americans. We have chaos in our streets thanks to the roving bands of Stephen Miller’s gestapo. Melania still hates Christmas. And our angry Santa in the White House ain’t getting any younger. Or saner. Definitely not any saner—as he proved hours later with the announcement he obviously engineered that the Kennedy Center would be renamed the Trump-Kennedy Center. (Haven’t the Kennedys been through enough?)
Which means more such outbursts are likely. And so if you’re looking for some thoughtful, last-minute holiday gifts for your friends and neighbors, there’s always earplugs. Acetaminophen–at least until RFK, Jr. bans it. Batteries for the remote, so you can change the channel if another such televised psychotic break occurs. Or, who knows, if the behavior really keeps up, perhaps a renewed passport may come in handy.
The post Opinion: It’s Time to Kick Trump, 79, Out of the White House—and Into a Padded Cell appeared first on The Daily Beast.
