The saddest thing about Trump is that this is the best he can do
Creamsicle-colored Pres. Donald J. Trump uses more makeup and hairspray than my wife (and she is fond of both), but he is not Satan. He is not Satan's hoof, or hump, or rump. He is not even the big toe of Satan.
I dislike the man intensely, and I hate watching him bull his way through what may be this nation's last presidential election, but I do not believe he is pure evil.
It might be easier if he were, at least in a soap opera sense. He would lose the election, and his character would be written out of future episodes, and a better actor would take his place.
In a recent speech, former First Lady Michelle Obama put her finger on it when she said Trump is in over his head.
Whatever he thought the presidency would be, that is not what it turned out be, and he doesn't really know how to grapple with that unpleasant fact. He is the Kardashian president, someone with a personal life of great luxury who made money from celebrity but doesn't know how to do anything.
The people who voted for him know how to do a great many things. They can fix transmissions. They can install central air conditioning in your house, and drive tractor-trailers, and work as bank tellers and electricians, lawyers and department heads, and warehouse workers. They are the people we called "the salt of the earth," back when people said those kinds of rootsy things, back before you could buy a house without a down payment.
No. Trump isn't evil, but he isn't salt of the earth, either.
The saddest thing about Trump is that this is the best he can do.
The most terrifying thing about Trump is that he's trying as hard as he can.
He is so far from knowing how bad he is at the job that he thinks he's good at the job.