President-elect and gigantic rubbery manchild Donald Trump was all over Twitter this weekend. His newest grievance is that Saturday Night Live made fun of him last night. This, the soon-to-be leader of the United States of America declares, will not stand.
You don't get equal time, you pompous suit balloon. The American president has zero protections against comedians mocking him in television or in print—he doesn't appear on the network afterwards saying I'm da president of the United States, and I strongly disapprove of that last sketch in which I was portrayed as a luxuriously coiffed show rabbit duct-taped to the top of a steel coatrack. You self-absorbed git. You citrus-faced two-bit monorail salesman. You great gilded walking Viagra advertisement. You woman-grabbing, child-groping, teen-ogling professional fraudster and con.
But wait! He also just cannot stop being obsessed over Mike Pence (doomed for the next for years to play Ronald Reagan to Donald's Bonzo, and if you think that is a compliment to Mike Pence you are unfamiliar with your Ronald Reagan movies) being talked-at by the cast of Hamilton. Donald will freely tell you which minority groups in America are the most full of rapists and is willing to torture and kill the families of suspected bad-doers for the sake of fulfilling his turgid campaign vows, but talking back has him in flop sweat for an entire weekend:
He deleted yet another one, one which criticized the Hamilton cast for reading their appeal to Pence from a note rather than memorizing it backstage first. Because Donald is, yes, nothing but an enormous poop.
This man is going to melt down before he ever reaches his own inaugural. He's completely unprepared for not just the duties of the office, not just the pressure of the office, but with being criticized on television. He's still sorting out how to arrange things so that he only conducts important meetings with other family members present so that they can explain the big words to him after everyone else has left.
How does this toupee-wearing ball of spite and uncooked bread dough survive an office that so visibly withers even the most prepared and level-headed? Trump's weekly address will simply be Donald Trump reading off a list of Americans who said bad things about him during the previous week, each followed with a grade-school rejoinder along the lines of I know you are but what am I and, presumably, a back-channel instruction to the IRS as to who should be receiving new audits this week. The man is not merely incompetent and unqualified, he is not even a fully developed adult. He is a spoiled child. He can barely register the presence of other persons in his field of view, so absorbed he is in his own self-estimations.
Donald, you stubby-fingered coatfart, we are going to make your life hell. Americans are going to invent insults for you never before seen in English or any other language. There's going to be a Manhattan Project of insult development, every researcher looking to craft the three or four biting words that will reliably make you wet your pants onstage. Insulting the world's most easily insulted fascist buffoon is going to become the next planking.
There is no way this man makes it through a four-year term in the most pressure-laden office in the nation. And he's going to be absolutely floored when he finds out he can't just retire to one of his gauche and overpriced resorts and appoint Ivanka the new president in his stead.