It’s one outrage in days full of outrageous material.
“Quiet, piggy,” Donald Trump told a female reporter in a press gaggle, pointing his finger at her angrily.
It wasn’t the first time – not even the hundredth time – the US president has attacked the media. And it’s hard for any storyline to break through the administration’s “flood the zone” strategy, much less one like this. Nothing seems to stick. But the “quiet, piggy” clip has taken off, several days after the admonishment occurred on Air Force One last Friday, and without much help from the media itself.
In my case, Trump and my own father might as well have been clones. My father was even a wealthy narcissistic authoritarian who was obsessed with his hair and image and was incapable of telling the truth. He was surrounded by sycophants and the vilest people imaginable who were tripping over each other to fellate him until he ran of money, and was abruptly abandoned by everyone but his debt collectors.
He died (alone, of alcohol poisoning) right about the same time Trump became president. For me, my brain has been scrambled since 2016, I feel like he went from terrorizing my family to running the country, and on some subconscious level I keep thinking I have to go to the White House or something on the holidays and listen to him make rambling nonsense speeches about himself.