Oh, perhaps you’ve heard? President Donald Trump is about to be the first president in history to be impeached a second time. What a bummer for him. Poor guy. Oh well.
The thing is — I don’t get the sense he cares all that much about the prospect of going down in history as an impeachment deuce. Maybe it’s simply because I don’t have his jabbering, misspelled tweets shoved in my eye sockets every minute of every day anymore, but it really seems like everyone involved in this new — and frankly, exponentially more important — impeachment effort is just kind of going through the motions without any real oomph behind it. Yes, the president should be impeached and be barred from holding public office in the future, and yes, he should lose his post-White House privileges, like his presidential pension (lol) and Secret Service protection. But is there ever going to be a two-thirds majority to convict him in the Senate? Fuck no. Trump knows it, the Republicans know it, the Democrats won’t say it, but they know it too. So here we are, running out the clock and hoping against hope he doesn’t launch nukes in the meantime. It’s not great.
Instead, we’re left with a stark example of what has been one of the weirdest, most challenging parts of trying to cover Donald Trump these past four years: You try and try to focus on the big, important stuff — the racism, fascism, cruelty, and mental degeneration — but you know that it’s the small, petty, insignificant slights that actually bother him the most. You can’t help but revel in the sort of things that should not matter at all, if only because you know that to him, they matter more than anything else.
Which is why Donald Trump probably just had the worst week of his entire presidency. Think about it:
- The PGA kicked his prized golf resort to curb.
- He’s barred from visiting his other prized golf resort for the time being.
- Bill Belichick, one of his biggest, most high profile supporters just publicly swerved him.
- He can’t post. Like, at all. Anywhere.
To normal people, these would be minor inconveniences in the face of, y’know, literally everything else happening on Earth. But to Trump? Oh my god, it’s gotta hurt. You just know he’s screaming at Jared to set up a burner account on Twitter for him. He’s absolutely called Belicheck personally to whine and cajole and scream about snubbing him. There is a 150% chance he’s gonna invent some off-the-cuff bullshit golf championship just so he can host it himself. These are the pressing issues that weigh heavily on his tufted noggin’.
So, for this week’s Office Hours, I want you to imagine with me a world in which Mitch McConnell somehow does agree to preside over an impeachment trial in the next few days. And wouldn’t you know it? By some stroke of luck or divine intervention or moment of cosmic clarity, Senate Republicans actually join with their Democratic colleagues to convict Donald Trump of all the horrible shit he’s been accused of. What I want to know is: What’s his punishment? No, not jail, or the guillotine or something pedestrian like that. What’s a punishment that’s gonna really hurt him. The sort of petty, ego-busting nonsense a normal person could brush off, but which he’ll obsess over like a canker sore filled with mosquito eggs.
Get creative. Get vindictive. Get weird. Office Hours are open.