Sunday, August 07, 2016

Today, The Cobra Offers A Wonderful Take On The 2016 Campaign — An Emergency Congressional Act — The Flake Act (Requiring A Mandatory Psychiatric Examination Of All Presidential Candidates)

POTUS 43 — during the 2000 presidential campaign — nickanmed the NY Fishwrap's Maureen Dowd "The Cobra" for her venomous columns about his father, mother, and the other Bushes in the news. And today, The Cobra strikes Donald T (for "The") Chump instead. This blogger, upon reading the essay, thought "Hold the phones! The Cobra lives!" If this is (fair & balanced) political commentary with a comedic twist, so be it.

[x NY Fishwrap]
Crazy About The Presidency
By The Cobra (Maureen Dowd)

TagCrowd cloud of the following piece of writing

created at

It is Inauguration Day, January 20, 2017.

Donald Trump searches his drawer for a note from Barack Obama, something on heavy cream stationery with the White House insignia, maybe reiterating the Obama doctrine, “Don’t do stupid stuff.”

But there is nothing there.

That puts Trump in a huff. How dare Obama depart without leaving the customary handwritten good-luck missive?

He grabs his phone and tweets: “SAD!! No note from my predecessor. No Class Obama.”

The tweet doesn’t go through. Must be something about the White House secure communications, he thinks. He’ll figure it out later. Right now, he needs to savor the moment.

“I did it. My way. They said I was a dangerous, insane traitor, a threat to national security, a Siberian candidate in cahoots with Pooty-Poot. That spook for Hillary, Michael Morell, the ex-CIA chief who dished up the flawed intelligence that helped get us into the Iraq war — which I opposed from the beginning, even if I said the opposite — called me ‘an unwitting agent of the Russian Federation.’

“That reminds me, I need to give Vlad a ring today from the hotline and find out what I’m supposed to do now. Just kidding.

“The political elite was in a frenzy about what would happen if I got my short finger on the nuclear button. Where is the button, by the way? Or is it a football? I know football better than anyone. I used to play and even had a team. If I find that football, I’m gonna punt it right at Little Mikie Bloomberg. Talk about a traitor.

“He was the guy who kicked off all the crazy talk about me being crazy at the Democratic convention, after he used to kiss up to me all the time and talk about how charismatic I am. He called me to rescue the Ferry Point golf course. And we all know he can’t stand Hillary. She must have promised him Treasury secretary.

“I’ll find my nukes in a minute. First I need to write out a pardon for Melania for her immigration violations before she has to clamber over the new wall in her stilettos. Who would have ever thought the problem with a nude photo portfolio of the next first lady would be a question about whether she had the right visa or not?

“So many things to do. Luckily I have the best metabolism ever. I need to name my cabinet. I’m going to make Ivanka secretary of state. And Tiffany will be over at Defense. Keep it in the family. Since my boys are so into wildlife, I’ll put them over at Interior, where they can endanger a few species. Rudy, Newt and Chris can fight over the scraps.

“My temperament is so perfect for this job. The greatest temperament in the history of temperaments because you go through pressure and you have to be able to handle pressure. The brouhaha over whether I was a nut job was so unfair. It got so big that Dr. Phil and Dr. Drew were both on TV analyzing my so-called narcissistic personality disorder.

“They said this happens when megalomania and a sense of omnipotence, which are normal in childhood, are carried over into adulthood. They said the symptoms are an excessive need for admiration, a lack of empathy for others’ feelings, an obsession with achieving power and success, and the desire to take advantage of people around you.

“Does that even sound remotely like me? Not a chance. Sounds more like Bill Clinton and Ted Cruz.

“The madness over my madness reached its peak in August, when Congress raced back from its break to pass legislation requiring presidential candidates to pass a psychiatric exam. That Republican Benedict Arnold, Jeff Flake, was the main sponsor, so it ended up being called the Flake Act. Ha-ha-ha.

“Congress couldn’t find a way to get money to fight Zika but they found a way to force me to take a Rorschach test. I passed with flying colors. Best score ever. I told those Freudians that all the ink blots looked like the way America used to be.

“As my doctor said, I’m the healthiest man ever to run for president. And man, did I run. Sure, things got a little wacky at times. I kicked that baby out of the rally. I got confused about the Iran video. I fought with that Gold Star family. I toyed with Paul Ryan and tortured John McCain. I alienated the entire African-American community, not to mention Latinos, women, millennials and Republicans.”

He clicks on the overhead TV set and quickly turns it off in disgust.

“The Clinton News Network and MSNBC and the failing New York Times are so biased, you’d think that Hillary won the presidency, not me. She’s still all over the news.

“Crooked Hillary got so full of herself and overconfident that she even pulled out of states like Virginia and Colorado in August, when I hadn’t even really started my campaign yet.

“My family and friends were worried about me when the polls nose-dived in August. They thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it without lashing out or dropping out. And they worried that my brand would go from Winning to Losing. But I knew those polls were rigged. The poorly educated angry white people still flocked to my rallies and I knew they would carry me through.

“Those haters gave me so much love and support that it comforted me. They believed me when I told them the economy had hit rock bottom, even though the jobs and wage numbers showed otherwise.

“It was a long, hot summer. But I was finally able to make the case to the voters that they had the wrong fruitcake. I wasn’t bonkers. Hillary was. She cannot handle pressure. I handle pressure. That pathological liar could never get her stories straight on those emails. She just got more and more tangled up, parsing her parsing. She’s disgusting. And people finally started reading that book by the Secret Service agent that I was pushing and the press was suppressing. It proved that she is truly unhinged and unbalanced.

“She scares her staff and blows up over anything. She’s a very angry person. She’s such an angry white person, she should be one of my supporters. I don’t know why she’s always grinning when I turn on the TV. And she’s practically stalking me. Every time I see her lately, she’s pictured around the White House. I should tell the Secret Service to get her tossed.”

The door opens. Trump looks up, expecting Mike Pence.

But it’s two orderlies in white coats collecting the ex-presidential candidate, who lost in a landslide to Hillary after spending the fall being treated at Bellevue under the provisions of the Flake Act. After all the cries of “Lock her up!” it turned out he was the one who got locked up.

“Mr. Trump, it’s time for your impulse-control/delusion-reduction therapy,” one orderly says soothingly. “We need to go early. It would be crazy to miss the swearing-in today of Madam President.” Ω

[Maureen Dowd received the Pulitzer Prize for commentary in 1999, with the Pulitzer committee particularly citing her columns on the impeachment of Bill Clinton after his affair with Monica Lewinsky. Dowd joined The New York Times as a reporter in 1983, after writing for Time magazine and the now-defunct Washington Star. At The Times, Dowd was nominated for a 1992 Pulitzer Prize for national reporting, then became a columnist for the paper's editorial page in 1995. Dowd's first book was a collection of columns entitled Bushworld: Enter at Your Own Risk (2004). Her second book followed in 2005: Are Men Necessary?: When Sexes Collide. Dowd received a BA (English) from DC's Catholic University.]

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