If your Facebook feed isn’t entertaining as hell these days, you aren’t following enough of what the Trump government is up to. Honestly, the material generated by the American President and his minions keeps bloggers, Twitter users and media busy all the live long day. Oh, and the comedians are writing their late night monologues so fast, their laptops are at risk of flaming out.

I have been reading all of it… every news feed, all of the stories and even taking some anti-nausea meds which allow me to watch the occasional white house slug speak their slimy words. Mostly I cluck and shake my head waiting for the dumpster fire to burn out, and see what will be left when the ashes cool.

But as an observer of human behaviour, I couldn’t help thinking about the whole “Covfefe” tweet incident. If you haven’t heard, Trump was inspired late one night to tweet something inane and grizzly, as he does with ludicrous regularity. On this particular night, one can only presume he was tweeting about one of his predictable inventory of personal injustices he feels have been done to him. You know, he grumbles about the fact that people don’t like him, or the media doesn’t like him, or every intelligent world leader thinking he is a buffoon, or whatever. Poor Donald.

Then he tweeted this:

“Despite the constant negative press covfefe.”

The tweet was left up for 6 hours. In Twitter time, that is enough to call it an entire epoch of shame.

We all make mistakes and the occasional typo, I get that. But it is the attempt to cover the emperor’s exposed ballsack of a mistake that is far more amusing. When the word covfefe was discovered, his band of slimy hirelings frantically huddled in the broom closet of the White House servants quarters trying to figure out a way to pretend (convincingly) that His Majesty had done it on purpose.

Their eventual cunning and diabolical plan was to tell everybody it was actually secret code for the elite friends who would get the reference. I will let the idiocy of that sink in for a moment.

Think back to when you were in elementary school, and there was that kid who would regularly shit himself in class. He may have had medical condition where the nerve endings in his anus were dead, so he couldn’t predict when it would spew forth, making it a frequent calamity. His Mom tried to make him wear diapers, but he didn’t listen to her, or anybody really, and just proceeded to drop a deuce in his pants on the regular. Then he would lie about it, or somehow try to cover it up. He would tie a sweater around his waist and blame the fat kid behind him for farting.

The times it was really bad and liquid tar crap would ooze down into his shoes, he would struggle to come up with alternate facts, and come up with a plan to make it look like he had done it deliberately. He would laugh awkwardly and pretend like he was some sort of diminutive anarchist who just shits as he pleases, and that the real rebels of society would get the brilliance of his rebellion.

But we all knew… he was not some cool anarchist and rebel. He was just a sad little kid who shat himself and was trying to cover it up.

In Trump’s world, he couldn’t come up with 140 characters that formed a complete thought when he wrote that now famous tweet in the first place. Then the White House staff equivalent of that perennially victimized fat kid in class tried to help him hide it by saying that it was a coded message to the cool kids.

Covfefe is not a word, we all know he was obsessing about the media COVERAGE, and for some reason didn’t finish the tweet. Simple as that.

I would like to think I can picture what happened the night of the Covfefe tweet. My mind paints a scene where I imagine him finishing his late night steak and fries dinner, as he is wiping the grease off his face and tiny hands, one of his servants notices him picking up his phone to tweet. The servant launches across the room wailing NOOOOOO….. and just as Trump is about to write the final word of his tweet, the nanny minder pulls the emergency “Nighty Night Needle” that all staff have on their persons for just such an occasion, and plunges it into his neck.

Sadly, the Secret Service protocol called “Find the phone as soon as he blacks out and delete the fucking tweet” was not followed and there it remained on the twittersphere for all to see.

Heads will roll I can assure you because all the sadly inadequate White House staffers who are paid to hide the back of Trump’s pants failed to convince us that he hadn’t shit.

Author

Our Editor-in-Chief Magnolia Ripkin is sort of like your mouthy Aunt who drinks too much and tells you how to run your life, except funny... well mostly funny... like a cold glass of water in the face. She writes a flagrantly offensive blog at Magnolia Ripkin Advice Blog answering pressing questions about business, personal development, parenting, heck even the bedroom isn't safe. She is the Editor in Chief at BluntMoms. Other places to find her: Huffington Post, The Mighty and Modern Loss. You can also check her out in two amazing compendiums of bloggers who are published in “I Just Want To Be Alone.” And most recently, Martinis and Motherhood, Tales of Wonder, Woe and WTF

1 Comment

  1. He is excruciating. Your vision of how it played out is hilarious and no doubt, spot on. Thank you for this.

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