Your front-row seat to my nervous breakdown
Time for a thought exercise. (Don’t worry; it’s an easy one.) Imagine, if you will, that there is a criminal in the White House. Investigators know it. Prosecutors know it. The people closest to him know it. And, of course, the criminal himself knows it.
It is human nature to try to make sense of the crazy thing happening before your very eyes by looking at it through the lens of the most similar thing to which it compares, so holding Trump’s aberrant presidency up against that of Richard Nixon is a natural response. The ways in which those two men, their presidencies, and their respective scandals differ, however, are at least as effective at predicting Trump’s fate as are the ways in which they are similar — the most notable difference, of course, being that Nixon was a smart and savvy politician who committed a crime, while Trump is an arrogant fool and dimwitted criminal who accidentally stumbled into the presidency while executing what he thought would be his greatest con.
In much the same way that Donald Trump’s limited intellect and malignant narcissism rob him of the ability to demonstrate compassion, empathy or humility, so, too, do they make it impossible for him to process regret. When you’ve convinced yourself that you are the center of the known universe, and that everything you do is the crowning achievement in the history of whatever it is you’ve done, the cognitive dissonance required to accept that you’ve actually done the most moronic thing possible is simply a bridge too far. And, so, instead of admitting — at least to yourself, if to no one else — that you regret the quantifiably stupid thing you’ve done, you double down, like so:
Donald Trump, Paul Ryan, Devin Nunes and the rest of Team Treason on Friday (2/2) released their much-hyped memo … and, as a service to those of you who haven’t had time to read it (it is, after all, a whopping three-and-a-half pages), I’ve gone ahead and worked up this summary: