The more that Donald Trump’s latest coronavirus press avail sinks in, the angrier I get. There he is, wearing a campaign cap and mugging for the camera. Interrupting Alex Azar when he’s on the verge of telling the truth about something. Bloviating about how he’s an innate medical genius. Complaining that he doesn’t want to unload passengers from a cruise ship because it might hurt his “numbers.” Griping that the Dow was all set to hit 30,000 until this whole virus thing hit. Bragging about the small number of deaths so far. Apparently demanding that every actual professional kowtow to him in public. Saying that he’s not to blame for cutting back on pandemic preparedness because “this is something that you can never really think is going to happen.” Clowning about how the testing has been perfect, “like the letter was perfect.” Snickering about how he told Mike Pence not to compliment a governor who had been mean to him. Bragging that he’s not bothering to take any special protections.
Jesus. Does he think this whole thing is just a big joke? Is he going to keep acting like a combination of court jester and Pollyanna-in-chief when the number of deaths hits a hundred? Or a thousand? Is there anyone left on his staff who can tell him to start acting like a president?
I have never wished medical problems on anyone. I didn’t want George Bush to choke on a pretzel or Dick Cheney to have a heart attack. Just not my style. But honest to God, if there’s one person on this planet who deserves to be infected with coronavirus, it’s Donald Trump.