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Trump Brags About NOT Needing a Teleprompter, Then Has a Complete Meltdown When He Can’t Read One

When you brag, back it up.

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Donald Trump has spent at least four years railing against Joe Biden for even using a teleprompter. His minions and fanatics have torn Joe apart over the subject, as though difficulty seeing things at a distance is some kind of weird spectacle.

Now Trump is discovering that he’s not as young as he used to be, either.

In the below video, Trump is first shown boasting to his crowd about not needing one, saying “Isn’t it nice to have a president who doesn’t need a teleprompter, not that he could read it anyway, he can’t read it.”

Then the split-screen cuts to him looking like absolute jackass in an $8,000 suit and a $12.99 MAGA hat, complaining that he can’t read the teleprompter because it’s facing the wrong way.

Then he adjusts the angle by, like, an inch.

“These teleprompters, they’re just gonzo, folks! They’re gonzo!”

No. Gonzo is a beloved Muppet. Gonzo rhymes with Bonzo, the nickname of the drummer who brought us “Over The Hills And Far Away,” which is where Trump should be by now.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s failed at reading what he’s supposed to say. But he prides himself on his ability to speak off-the-cuff and ad-lib. If he had any intelligent thoughts, that might be a good quality, but for now, he just sounds like that guy at the party who won’t shut up.

Like me: I’m a lazy fat guy who lives by the river and talks to anyone who will stop and have a conversation. But I know my strengths. I know how to turn a phrase. I have a mellifluous voice. I’m kinda witty.

Donald Trump is in no way self-aware. What he thinks are his strengths are, in fact, his weaknesses. And he projects those weaknesses onto others.

The whole campaign strategy of trying to paint Joe as old and senile isn’t going to work out that well when Trump acts old and senile every day. Who are this guy’s handlers?

Don’t get me wrong: I firmly believe we should forgive everyone their flubs. But we also shouldn’t boast about a thing we’re terrible at, like reading a teleprompter. Heck, I’m nearsighted. You better put that thing a foot from my face if you want me to read it.

Oh, wait. It WAS a foot from his face:

Andrew Simpson
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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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