Senior moment

Why would you not sell this American a semi-automatic rifle and a couple of handguns?

First he terrorized his neighbors by firing hundreds of practice rounds.

Yesterday he drove to an elementary school, but the doors were locked.  So he drove around Rancho Tehama Reserve, California, shooting people at random, killing four before the police killed him.

Today his wife's body was discovered under the floorboards of their house.

Obviously jet-lagged and one mass murder behind, the president* (thanks, Charlie) tweeted this yesterday:  "May God be with the people of Sutherland Springs, Texas.  The FBI and Law Enforcement has [sic] arrived."

Only last week Trump was whining because the North Korean news agency called him a "lunatic old man."  It was "old" he objected to, threatening massive retaliation by calling Kim "short and fat."  (Height is an obsession of Trump's, and he does not seem to realize how fat he is.)  "Old" stepped on his massive vanity.  I think he should embrace it.

For a start, he could drop the daily Propecia, which has resulted in growing only a bizarre crop of fuzz on his scalp.  The side effects -- sniffing, dizziness, insomnia, impotence -- are not worth it.  Not to mention the time he must spend having the fuzz dyed lemon yellow, which fools nobody.

As the Russia investigation comes to a climax, more and more of his relatives and courtiers will be taking cover behind the "I can't recall" defense, extensively employed by Jeff Sessions in his latest perjurython at the Capitol.  There is no reason Trump shouldn't join them, despite his boast of having "one of the greatest memories of all time."  After all, if you're senile, you might not remember how bad your memory is.  Doubly effective!  Forgot the Alzheimer's, forgot the collusion!  Who exactly is this Flynn guy?  Where is Russia?

Trump's approval rating, even measured by Fox State News, hasn't approached forty percent in months.  If he began to wander around Washington in a bathrobe and flip-flops, stopping strangers to inquire about, say, a lost kitten, he could be as beloved as Ronald Reagan when he was drifting into the sunset, i.e., his entire second term.  Grandpa Don, of course, won't have a second term.  Surely invoking 25 would be the compassionate thing to do, with minimal political consequences for his gutless Cabinet of Blunders.  All the lies and idiotic statements of the past two years would be chalked up to "the old boy's eggs are coddled."  The Republicans could crawl out from under him and avoid, perhaps, another rout like last week's.  Mitch, are you reading this?

Seventy-one is officially old.  Make it work for all of us.