Popular vote loser Donald Trump can’t leave his bunker without being reminded how much people hate him, and he doesn’t even have a family to lean on—because they hate him too.
Usually around 6:30 p.m., or sometimes later, Mr. Trump retires upstairs to the residence to recharge, vent and intermittently use Twitter. With his wife, Melania, and young son, Barron, staying in New York, he is almost always by himself, sometimes in the protective presence of his imposing longtime aide and former security chief, Keith Schiller.
Does his body guard rock Trump to sleep? Holy shit, that’s pathetic. It would be sad and tragic if he wasn’t so f’n dangerous.
Cloistered in the White House, he now has little access to his fans and supporters — an important source of feedback and validation — and feels increasingly pinched by the pressures of the job and the constant presence of protests, one of the reasons he was forced to scrap a planned trip to Milwaukee last week.
“Cloistered” is one way to put it. Another would be “hunkered down in his bunker.” His supporters aren’t feeling particularly motivated to show support for the lunatic in the White House. Meanwhile, the protests are working—he knows we’re out in the streets, he knows we’re not going away, he knows we’re legit (no matter what his propaganda arm says), and it’s killing him. He needs adoring crowds, and he’s getting the opposite. And while President Steve Bannon might not care about protests (he wants chaos), his useful idiot Trump does.
Trump won’t survive four years in the White House. Surviving this year feels like it would be a miracle. The only question is how he goes out: in a straitjacket, in handcuffs, or in an ambulance.