Chlorinated Chicken

Mike Pence needs a nickname and that will do.  It looks normal but it's nasty.  Don't swallow it.

CC has been on a "spread the hate" tour of Europe.  He had to explain to the Poles why his boss tweeted "Congratulations!" to them on the eightieth anniversary of the war which turned their country into a charnel house and left them at the mercy of the Germans and then the Russians for the next half-century.  Then he dropped in on the Taoiseach in Dublin for a few hours before rushing across to Doonbeg to pump some American tax dollars into another failing Trump property.  (In little Doonbeg Trump is slightly less popular than the Black and Tans.)  Then he arrived in  Iceland like an invading army (Reykjavik had to call in police from neighboring towns, which was considered insulting in a placid little country where the president often hits the thermal baths in the altogether).  And on to London, where the PM (for now) scolded him over the American practice of washing chickens in chlorine, and where Pence responded by praising his "great leadership."  For the record, Johnson's government is falling apart like a clown car and his own brother has resigned from the Commons and Cabinet.    

Wherever he went after Poland, CC was met with people disgusted by his anti-LGBT stance and opposition to abortion rights.  He prayed for them, I'm sure, while taking care never to be alone with a female woman who might make a move on Magic Mike Chlorinated Chicken.  This is constantly happening, I guess.   And most Americans never noticed because back home the head clown was having a marquee week.  He spent days attacking Debra Messing because she tweeted a picture of a sign in front of a Baptist church in Birmingham which questioned the love that millions and millions of African Americans have for Trump.  I don't believe he attacked the church or its pastor, who is not a woman.  Then, to show his love for Alabama...well, do I have to go into Sharpiegate?  It's been documented exhaustively, by people who were appalled, or amused, or both.  The significant fact here is that Trump's war with reality shows no sign of an armistice.  

The movie shorthand usually invoked is Queeg and the strawberries, the obsession with triviality, the refusal to admit he might have been wrong about anything ever.  This is not comforting.  At some point there will be a crisis  --  a storm, an economic collapse, some form of military overreaching.  I picture the Barney Greenwald character, the spokesman for the author, popping up to blame us for mocking Trump and making up songs about him (this is on you, Randy Rainbow) instead of supporting him.  It's all our fault he lost his shit.  Authority must always be obeyed, even when vested in the clearly mad.  If he survives the nuclear hit on New York or whatever, I expect this tripe to show up in a David Brooks column.  

No.  No.  This is not the Navy.  We are still free agents, damn it, and it's up to us to end this nightmare.  Even it means a short term of Chlorinated Chicken Pence.