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The Guilty Pleasure of Hating Trump
An open letter to my fellow Trump-loathers
Pseudo-President Donald Trump has proven himself to be deranged. In the language of psychiatry, he’s a malignant narcissist, which means he’s unable to love anything but himself and he has contempt for everyone else, including his family and his many loyal, duped followers. These character traits aren’t strategic or transactional; they’re delusional, pathological, monstrous.
The pieces of evidence that support those accusations I just levelled are abounding. Think of massive pillars, their bases dug deep into the earth and their crowns towering miles above the landscape, holding aloft the judgment against Trump, a judgment carved in diamond tablets that are untouchable by the tribe of blind or disingenuous naysayers. The denunciation of Trump’s farcical reign as a man-child-who-would-be-king is an impregnable fortress.
As a result, for four years I’ve attacked Trump verbally, writing numerous articles explaining the nature and scale of his malignancy and mocking the travesty of his political reality TV show. If you’re reading this, chances are you, too, actively condemned the spectacle of Trump.
But if a mentally handicapped man couldn’t help but spew gibberish on your street corner, would you write reams of derogatory letters denouncing…
