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Trump Fatigue Syndrome
And the law of diminishing returns.
Details of Mary Trump’s explosive new tell-all book are beginning to leak. While the stories are notable, they certainly are not surprising.
Donald paid someone to take the SAT for him. Instead of visiting his dying brother at the hospital, Donald went to the movies. At his father’s funeral, Donald’s eulogy morphed into a self-congratulatory sermon. When seeing his 29-year-old niece in a bathing suit, the president said, “Holy shit, Mary. You’re stacked.” And — a surprise to no one — he isn’t religious, only using the appearance of faith for political ends.
Story, after story, after story. Such is the Donald Trump existence. When reading over these juicy accounts, I expected to be appalled. Instead, a jaded satiety overcame me. I was not surprised, aghast, or even intrigued, frankly.
That’s not to say that Mary Trump’s account of her uncle is inaccurate. Nor is it to say that these new revelations should be set aside. It is important for Americans to be empowered with as much knowledge as possible before heading to the polls in a few months.
But it is to say that I’ve had enough. I suffer from Trump Fatigue Syndrome. His boorishness, bigotry, and malfeasance no longer evoke an emotional response in me. My adrenal glands no longer secrete…
