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Okay, It’s Getting Ugly Now — Trump’s Mental Decline Is Getting Worse by the Day

This is the verbal version of that time he stumbled down a ramp.

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Remember that time alllllll the way back at the beginning of Trump’s presidency when he walked up the steps to Air Force One with toilet paper on his shoe?

What you’re about to see reminds me of that, for two reasons:

Number one, he’s an idiot. That much has been clear for a long time. But number two, nobody in his circle is letting him know how idiotic he looks and sounds.

Now, I had a mother-in-law with Alzheimer’s. I personally shepherded her through her last few years, because I was the only one in the house strong enough to carry her up the stairs, or move her chair up to the table so I could feed her at dinnertime.

And let me tell you, Trump is displaying signs that the mother-in-law I miss so dearly was showing about 5 years before her death.

So his crew is not only not letting him in on how he’s publicly presenting, they’re active ignoring his wellbeing, or someone would have stepped up by now.

I haven’t seen a diagnosis on him, and we likely never will, because he’s too vain to be honest with anyone, let alone potential voters. But when you hear him speak now, he not only slurs his words and confuses facts, but he also forgets things that should be permanently imprinted on his brain.

Take the name of the DA in New York who just successfully prosecuted him to the tune of nearly half a billion dollars for fraud in the state. It is Letitia James. As in, “Luh-TISH-uh JAMES.”

But during his most recent appearance, he rambles about the new case against him being handled by someone else, and he refers to her as “Luh-TEE-sha JONES.”

Like… That’s not even close, big guy.

I’m not going to do a transcript of the video here, because that would be a LOT of work, as it always is with anything Trump says. But I will note that my sweet MiL played “peekaboo” almost until her death.

Trump can remember the derogatory nickname he gave the woman who cost him nearly every penny he’s got, but he can’t remember her actual given name, or the pronunciation of it?

It’s no small wonder that people are questioning his mental health. He should be practically in hospice at this point.

Watch:

Andrew Simpson
meet the author

Andrew is a dark blue speck in deep red Central Washington, writing with the conviction of 18 years at the keyboard and too much politics to even stand. When not furiously stabbing the keys on breaking news stories, he writes poetry, prose, essays, haiku, lectures, stories for grief therapy, wedding ceremonies, detailed instructions on making doughnuts from canned biscuit dough (more sugar than cinnamon — duh), and equations to determine the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow. A girlfriend, a dog, two cats, and two birds round out the equation, and in his spare time, Drewbear likes to imagine what it must be like to have spare time.

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