Song of the Day 5/7: The Rolling Stones, “Paint It, Black”

As both puck and El Somnambulo have noted, the Orange Offal in the Oval, in yet another fumbling attempt to change the subject from his staggering ineptitude, has decreed, apparently on official stationery with a Sharpie, that his mostly-imaginary border wall Shall Hereby Be Painted Black. Hence today’s song.

Dotards and psychotics often obsess over meaningless details, such as strawberries, so Trump has been obsessed with this idea on and off for several years now — on when his aimlessly wandering mind imagines short, swarthy men having their way with Ivanka, off when enough of his semi-functional henchmen explain that it would increase the cost by at least $500 million.

Given that those same henchmen have been trying to distract his mind from magical coronavirus cures for the past week, The Blackening is back on again. Where did his stable, geniusriffic brain come up with this notion? The Washington Post explained the “Eureka!” moment yesterday:

Trump in 2018 jokingly told aides a personal story about why he liked the black wall after some officials pushed back on the wisdom of painting it black, two people with direct knowledge of the comments said. At one of his golf clubs, Trump said they had a snack shop between holes and they had put in a black granite countertop. When his group of golfing partners went to order their hotdogs and drinks, he said, the countertop was hot and momentarily burned their arms when they touched it.

Yes, the bloated, sadistic bastard got the idea from watching others in pain. The suffering is, indeed, the point.