Well. That was weird.

I watched today on the television images of the Impeached Preznit Carnage Superspreader Not Really A Billionaire walk in his stupid suit toward his car, released from Walter Reed Hospital one can only assume against all cogent medical advice, actually wearing a mask; I witnessed a news reporter ask him how many of his staff had been infected, heard him choke out a denial “thank you,” witnessed the reporter then ask him if he is a super-spreader. The early-evening pundit on my beloved MSNBC speculated that the Impeached Preznit was not “happy with the questions.” I perceived that he was so winded he was unable to speak, though he did give the camera a thumbs up and an awkward double fist pump before he sidled into the vehicle.

I watched the pool cameras follow his chopper cutting through the lovely mid-Atlantic autumn air. It was a surreal scene, knowing full well that this person, full of monoclonal antibodies, Remdisivir, the steroid Dexamethasone, aspirin, tail-of-newt, vitamin D, and NOT hydroxychloroquine, but still so full of drugs and probably full of lung-sputum as well that it’s likely being released from the hospital is such a horrible idea that only the Impeached Preznit Carnage Superspreader could have expressed such a wish, knowing this, I watched Marine One haul his dumpy ass back to the White House.

I watched the chopper land, and the camera angle afforded the pool report was faraway, so the twilight aspect of the sun provided what appeared to be a fumey curtain, and this was the stage set when the small looking, familiar figure exited the chopper and ascended the stairs to the Truman balcony. Despite the strained visibility of the picture, one could see that the figure was masked, because rather than saunter directly into the White House, the figure turned toward the South Lawn, toward the chopper, and just stood there for a while. Then, he removed his mask, put it in his pocket, and then I think there was a thumbs-up gesture, and then, he saluted.

I know there are some who may have found the display inspiring, and I am trying to spin up in my head how I might explain to them why it made my skin crawl. Because for starters, this person is carrying a deadly toxin and is still likely to infect others, returning to a home that employs hundreds of people. Because we had witnessed the day before this person plot a scene that would have fit comfortably in Paddy Chayefsky’s The Hospital, where the zany patient flees to get one last drive around the block to wiggle his palm at his onlookers from inside a hermetically sealed automobile, because these are just top stacks on a whole career of wanton recklessness on this issue that resemble a sure death wish. Or because of the one last hope that actual infection by what Impeached Preznit Carnage has called the “invisible enemy” would cause him to actually change course and lead. [ Narrator: It didn’t ]

But I think what struck me most as the Impeached Preznit Carnage Superspreader Not Really a Billionaire stood on the balcony where presidents tend to oversee the Easter Egg Roll, and ripped off the mask and saluted; I merely felt like I really don’t care if he keeps the trains running on time. We do not need our own Il Duce. And I tire of the constant images this reality television star keeps creating that remind us that this White House resident thinks that is what presidents are supposed to do, to salute from the balcony, to hold up the Bible, to roll tanks through the city, to spell out his own name in fireworks over the National Mall. That is what he thinks presidents look like. That is what he thinks presidents do.

I do not agree.

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