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The Latest Pic of Trump Standing Around Like a Dictator Who’s Already Been Sculpted in Bronze Has the Internet Howling

Could it be any more obvious that he's playing a role?

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I am in no way kidding when I say that I am sick of this man’s face. It’s bad enough to have to write about Donald Trump day in and day out, but at least there’s a reason for it. He injects himself into the everyday lives of all Americans like bad traffic.

His face, though, is inexcusable. I mean, his accordion-hand mannerisms are annoying, sure. And the way he talks is obnoxious, not just in timbre but in content, with all the repetition. But with all of his courtesans and attendants, you’d think somebody could do something about the face.

The upside is, every time a new photo makes the rounds, we all get to have a hearty chuckle and read the input of the internet’s funniest commenters.

Since I HAVE to, here’s the photo:

I’ll make a few observations myself, I suppose. Number one, the man looks like he wishes he was on the ship he’s watching take off right there. And who can blame him? Trump is like a dog with a car bumper in his mouth when it comes to the presidency: He’s dead sure he wants it, but when he catches it, what the heck is he going to do with it?

But really, it’s just the obvious here — that makeup. It looks like he uses blue painter’s tape to mark off the sections closest to his hair, his hat, and his collar. He wouldn’t want to get that, that… whatever that is on his clothes or hair. I can’t even imagine the time it takes to get that pancake makeup off his face, with all the nooks and crannies of his nearly 8 decades on the planet.

And aside from the other obviously funny part of the picture — the fact that Ronny Jackoff Jackson is there by his side, just waiting to lie about his weight again — that’s what got the most comments on social media. That makeup. GOD, it’s awful.

That last one there is where my mind was headed. Not necessarily Wendy’s exactly, but… You know when you have leftover spaghetti, and you have to find that one Tupperware bowl you always store leftover spaghetti in? Because the greatest dishwasher in the world won’t get that stain out? Just me?

Anyway, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m just going to join Alfred E. Neuman over here.

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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