Regular readers here already know what I’m going to say. They recognized it in real time as it was happening, so I don’t want to take a lot of space up here with it. As we all are painfully aware, last Thursday the Ol’ Pussy Grabber dropped his wee lil’ tweeter from his stubby chubbies long enough to put Fox and Friends on speaker phone — and what ever sound dampening he has in his toilet room, I want in mine; it didn’t sound like he was talking while sitting on his throne at all except for the occasional grunt and sigh — so he could chat about the day’s events.
And this week’s events filled the Ol’ Pussy Grabber’s brain with such anxiety that he had to do something! Say what you will about him, he is a man of action! Impulsive action that is more often than not destructive if not himself at least to those around him. So, with the mists of investigative-provoked anxiety swirling around his best stable genius brain, he obeyed his urge to climb to ever greater heights of narcissist inspired hubris than ever before and called Fox and Friends.
It’s almost as if, the Ol’ Pussy Grabber believed Hugh Hewitt’s tweet
Listening to @realDonaldTrump having fun and swinging from the hips on @foxandfriends and wondering why he hasn’t been doing this more. This works. He’s the best promoter of his own record and people.
— Hugh Hewitt (@hughhewitt) April 26, 2018
Before we explain the obvious, we’ll take a brief look at the reactions of the hosts as the Ol’ Pussy Grabber kept doling out the derp rope to hang his derpy self with. Let’s consider the range of reaction.
Whatever you think of the nameless soulless “personalities” on Fox and Friends, they are seasoned professional chattererers with the Ol’ Pussy Grabber and other crazy drunk uncle types. They can handle almost any inane stupid comment with the insight of a stumbling zombie, but this phone call caused them a deep petrifying existential angst. And, it wouldn’t end. He kept going and going and digging his dumb ass deeper until he pooped out into the trademark friendly embrace of China!
Other than turning her head and chewing the inside of her cheek, the young woman hardly even moves. She leaves her hands locked in some kind of death grip in her lap. The older fellow with the distinguished steel gray locks is lucky because his face has the permanent Botox-induced expression blankness. The best he manages is a curling of the lip. But, the poor other fellow looks like he just might vomit.
So, the week’s events has provoked an amazingly anxious reaction from the Ol’ Pussy Grabber, and we all know what happens when the Ol’ Pussy Grabber starts groping the angina, his filter completely disappears, but no one told the Fox and Friends hosts that, so they kept trying to steer him to issues of the day instead of letting him prattle on about his amazing electoral college victory, which I have on very good authority of the most stable genius expressed in only the best words is not easy for a Repube to do. Never mind that W did it just twelve short presidential years ago.
Anxiety short circuits his already deficient executive function. He never could stick to a plan even under the best of circumstances, so now with all the shit flying this week he is suffering from conflicting heuristics: (1) When threatened by a specific person, minimize their role in your life — Manafort worked for a short time for the campaign. Carter Page didn’t work for the campaign. And (2) deny any and all knowledge or awareness of an act until the evidence is so overwhelmingly incontrovertible that it is more credible to deny that he has denied the act than to continue denying the act.
So, what’s an Ol’ Pussy Grabber to do? With no ability to think, plan, or resist his impulses, he simply said the first thing that pooped into his mind. His instinct to minimize the role of others is what is strongest for him, so when he his rational brain cannot over come his urges, which is never, he goes with the strongest impulse: Cohen only does the tiniest fraction of his lawyering work.
There! If Cohen doesn’t do much legal work for him, then few of the tons of documents and digital records that relate directly to him can actually relate directly to him, right? He’s safe from accusations that Cohen was doing legal work for him, so everything is better. Now, he can relax and lovingly wrap his tiny little tweeter lovingly in his tiny little stubbie chubbies and get to jerking out tweets now that he has shown the world what a stable genius he is and laid to rest any doubts about his relationship with Michael Cohen.
This is our Ol’ Pussy Grabber in hall of his executive dysfunction.