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2024 Election

New Video Has Americans Concerned About Trump’s Health All Over Again as He Nearly Falls Entering Garbage Truck

Not just physical health, either.

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If there’s anything you can count on, it’s that Trump will turn everything into a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade of craziness, with him as the biggest balloon float. It doesn’t matter what it is. Arrested? Coffee mugs with his mug shot on them. Sexually assaulted a woman? Lie about it until you owe her $85 million for defamation.

The list, unfortunately, goes on into eternity, and it’s just depressing to go through the litany every time.

Sometimes, however, it turns into something genuinely funny. And I mean that in every sense of the word possible. Ha-ha funny, peculiar funny, trying-not-to-cry-because-it’s-true funny. All of them.

This one is definitely all three, anyway. On Wednesday, the holiday known as Cabbage Night because people used to leave rotting cabbage heads on porches as a pre-Halloween prank, Trump decided to elevate the debate about the use of the word “garbage” to describe other humans.

And by “elevate” it, I mean he dressed up like a garbage man and drove a garbage truck around with his logo on it while calling Joe Biden and Kamala Harris garbage. That’s one big Macy’s balloon, seriously.

But while he was performing the stunt, which already had everyone worried about his mental health “at a level you’ve never seen before,” he also displayed a physical tic that’s been plaguing him for a while now. His weird limp has turned into a geriatric falling hazard.

Folks, I can’t stress this enough: If you’re going to do performative comedy like this, you have to make sure the rest of your body’s on board first. It’s one thing to look hilariously like a big beep-beep boy when you get into a truck:

It’s another thing entirely to look like you’re stumbling into a taxi after a long night of practicing your teleprompter reads so you don’t say “gabrage” or “cabbage” or something like that while you climb into a literal Trashmobile.

Now, the balance between responses to this were relatively equal in volume when it came to concerns about physical health and mental health, as you can imagine.

There were of course those that summed it up in a single sentence:

But the funniest reactions all came from the angle that it appeared as though Trump was drunk. We all know that he famously does not drink, so whether it’s physical or mental, the man is at a breaking point.

Would it be a charitable excuse to offer that perhaps as a rich, elitist billionaire, he just hasn’t had much practice getting into vehicles that “the peons” drive?

Either way, the internet had a field day.

But my personal favorite, the tweet that cuts right to the core of the matter, perfectly describes what the real problem is. It’s not whether he’s physically fit, although that’s a concern. It’s not whether he’s the victim of cognitive decline, even though that should preclude someone from being president automatically.

No, it’s that he himself is absolute trash. He reminds me of everything gaudy from the 80s. Animal coffee tables with glass being held up by the paws. Neon tennis shoes. Terrible moustaches and short shorts on guys. Wild Turkey. A Pontiac Fiero.

That’s it right there, people. He’s got the right vehicle, but he should’ve just let it pick him up with its big fork hands and dump him in the trailer, like all of those old mementos of his first wife’s before he buried her in the Trump Bedminster Memorial Golf Course and Cemetery.

He still would’ve found a way to mess that up, though.

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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