Rick Wilson - Sensing Defeat, Trump Cries 'Witch Hunt'
For two years, Donald
Trump had fun amidst the mess. He reveled in stage-managing a
reality-television version of an executive branch staffed by weak-willed and
morally vacant appointees selected more for their ass-kissing skills than for
any remote talent in governing or even any talent at all. He consumed every
ounce of scenery, and his every desire, whim, and impulse were carried out by
White House minions unable to say no. Republican Members of Congress may as
well have sported “Property of Donald Trump” forehead tattoos.
During those halcyon
days, the power of the Republican House was used to obstruct justice, block the
Mueller probe into Russia’s pro-Trump efforts, and to attack the intelligence
community in order to protect Team Putin. They were a blocking force against
investigations into his taxes, finances, and his administration's misdeeds.
Trump has never displayed even the most cursory interest in governing or
leadership, but he loves the roar of the crowd, the high-fructose smell of the
MAGA set jammed into arenas, his long-running pissing match with the media, and
trolling the known universe on Twitter. A supine House was his shield.
Donald Trump, a
princeling who was raised in luxury, never held accountable for any of his
countless personal and business betrayals and failures, and who literally lived
in a golden tower for most of his life, is not good with stress. His
rage-tweeting shows us that he knows he can’t juggle all the crises steaming
toward him, that he knows his astounding power to distort reality for his
followers won’t shield him from the political, legal, and personal perils
closing in on him.
Playtime is over, and
Donald doesn't like it.
The electoral
beat-down of the midterm elections left him on political terrain that’s a lot
less fun than it was in his first two years. He’s never, ever getting his
precious Wall. His legislative agenda just crashed and burned. He’s going to
face actual congressional oversight, not a daily foot massage from do-boys like
Devin Nunes. The investigatory jackboot is on the other foot now, with
subpoenas and reports that can’t be tweeted away or dismissed with a Hannitean
roar of “But her emails!”..