Well, that’s it. They’ve finally convinced me, and I’m done with Trump. He has to go; this is a bridge too far for even me.
The waiters know well Trump’s personal preferences. As he settles down, they bring him a Diet Coke, while the rest of us are served water, with the Vice President sitting at one end of the table. With the salad course, Trump is served what appears to be Thousand Island dressing instead of the creamy vinaigrette for his guests. When the chicken arrives, he is the only one given an extra dish of sauce. At the dessert course, he gets two scoops of vanilla ice cream with his chocolate cream pie, instead of the single scoop for everyone else. The tastes of Pence are also tended to. Instead of the pie, he gets a fruit plate.
Follows, a truly pathetic freak-out which not only includes the usual deranged and butt-hurt liberal sore losers, but also the neo-“conservative” likes of David Frum and the execrable Jennifer Rubin, who characterizes Trump based on this latest hairball yakked up by the Insane Left as “a man unable to restrain his urges.” I’ll let Bre Payton handle the obvious response to such dementia:
This brings me to the obvious question: WHO CARES? Who cares if the president’s waitstaff are able to anticipate his preferences and have a Diet Coke or a second scoop of ice cream ready? That’s called good customer service! The White House waitstaff serve Trump nearly every day, so of course they know what kind of dressing he likes on his salad or what his beverage of choice is. And why are we all assuming that the other dinner guests couldn’t just ask for another scoop of ice cream if they wanted it? I have a hard time imagining the White House kitchen staff denying someone more dessert.
But that’s not how the inside-the-Beltway folk see it.
Well, naturally not. They’re incapable of seeing anything other than a curtain of purest blood-red when it comes to anything Trump says, does, or attempts.
And that’s the beauty of it, see. He’s got the Beltway cattle in full stampede now, and in true bovine fashion they’re lowing and bawling in confusion and fear as they run they know not where just as hard and fast as their spindly legs will carry them. May their hysteria continue to blind them to the reality that they’re being carefully driven…right off a cliff.
May they continue to find themselves unable to contain their raving madness, and may the sane population see it unleashed in all its repellent pathos. And may that stupid, ignorant, stupid, incompetent, stupidstupidSTUPID swine Trump continue to run rings around their asses, until their options are reduced, literally, to: A) shit, or B) go blind.
Two scoops of ice cream, instead of just one. My God, it’s like Watergate, or the Holocaust, or something. Clearly, the man is unfit to be President.
Heh. I’ll say it again: Most. Fun. Presidency. EVER.