A Fine Kettle of Fish

Six months after a sizable portion of the so-called "white" population took advantage of a grievous and badly overlooked loophole in the American electoral system enough to enable a  life-long ignoramus named T. (for "Tweetybird") Rump to assume the formerly dignified and even revered office of President of the United States, it's hard to believe that Rump's admirers can be happy with the fine kettle of fish in which their boy finds himself  boiling every hour of the day and the night.  To all intents and purposes he is functionally illiterate, and so is able to communicate with that semi-conscious  entity, the "American People," only by means of that literacy-killer, twitter feeds.   Equally unable to call upon the little that remains of common decency in the Republican Party, he is forced to fill the White House rooms and halls only with low-lifers who resemble nothing so much as they do pockets of maddened piranhas in always bloodied Brazilian rivers.  Otherwise he spends his time riding from place to place and inhabiting fields where the thing is to hit little white balls into little black holes.   And the only policy that he can be said to be pursuing is to reverse everything that his much worthier predecessor in that office, B. Obama, pursued.   Rump figures that that is the easiest thing to do to keep up his impersonation of chief executive.   But finding the flaws that everything that Rump, his grown children, and his companions in crime do are really what is like shooting fish in a barrel, and there's never a shortage of  those misdeeds, from one day to the next.   The MSM is happier than they want to let on.