Small Is Not Beautiful

Big Bird Decompensates at Davos...

President “Malice Toward All, Charity for None” Pissy Pants, 2026

It’s impossible to overstate the insanity of the current moment. The galaxy’s smallest, tiniest, pettiest, wee-est little whinybitch made his sleepy denouement in Switzerland this week. Diaper Donnie mewled and whinged, whined and sundowned, raved and ranted, cried and clucked, whimpered, sniveled and sniggled, all while imagining himself to be the cleverest act in the aging bump-and-grind show he always pictures himself the star of.

In reality, he’s always been the only entrant. The lines and the tunes are always older than Egypt: “MEE want pussy! MEE want GOLD! MEE want trophy wives! MEE want to be Pwesident! MEE now want a Norwegian necklace, how come Denmark didn’t give MEEE a beautiful necklace? Gimmee that Nobel, Maria! MEEE need it, MEEE never get NUTHIN’, MEE never enjoy RESPECT from nobody! (waaaaaa!) 😭😩😭 MEEE HATE all of you fuckers, MEEE now going to slap BIGLY tariffs on you…THEN you’ll be sorreeee!”

It never varies. Day in, day out, all through the night, the itty-bittty, bratty bratwurstface fills his diapers — and the planet — with his wee invective. An angry chimpanzee rolls his demented eyes like a chameleon with ADHD, while fiddling with the pin on a hand grenade. Our allies are reduced to begging, pleading, cajoling, cooing… ”nice banana for you, big fella, just put the grenade down nice and slow.”

Unhappy with just being a jerk and a loser, Mango Malfeasance went out of his way at Davos to lie about the sacrifices others have made not just for their own countries, bu for us — a concept he will never understand. Insulting NATO, he claimed: “we’ve never needed them…they’ll say they sent some troops to Afghanistan or this or that…they stayed back, a little off the front lines.” Prince Harry in Exile, once deployed to Afghanistan himself, did everything possible not to tell the orange-faced scunner and cockwomble to go sod off in a corner somewhere.

Not content with being just a big-time crook and dissembler, Donnie’s new “Board of Peace” — in reality a Board of Grift, Graft and Gimme, complete with a $1 billion entry fee (who throws away money like that?) and a self-appointed Chairman for life position — mocks the truth with every outrageous claim and Kushner-created model city in Gaza. The scam matches the ego — Brobdingnagian and Vulgarian.

Tomorrow will bring more threats, more itsy-bitsy acts of petty vengeance, more sundowning filled with babble-bibble, piss and vinegar, bluster and brou-ha-ha, TACOing and folding, rage-tweeting against the Federal Reserve, Barack Obama, Bette Midler, Joe Biden, windmills, Taylor Swift, female reporters. Predictable and predicted, resolute and regular as an atomic clock. Meanwhile, Republicans will continue to devolve into one-dimensional flatworms, capable of nothing but groveling periodically with “as Your Grace pleases” grunting noises. The Court of Henry VIII showed more testicular fortitude back when.

Oh, the Humanity!

You don’t have to be David Brooks of the New York Times, delving into the long-forgotten journals of Tacitus, Sallus, the histories of Edward Gibbon, the wisdom of James Madison, or even the obvious truth of the Marx Brothers to discern what’s going to come down the pike next. For anyone who’s ever watched a beloved parent or grandparent disappear into the emptiness of Alzheimer’s or the never-never-land of fronto-temporal dementia, there’s no mystery about it. One day soon — very soon perhaps — an angry, sleepy, exhausted old man will suddenly wander into the White House Briefing Room clad only in his briefs (no, not the Top Secret kind), with or without a layer of Depends on top, nothing else. Perhaps he’ll wrap himself around the flagpole to pretend it's all been scripted beforehand. We’ll all be waiting with bated breath to see how Karoline Spokesbarbie will explain that one. Or when those diapers drop a BIG ole’ boom-boom while the cameras roll. The coming crack-up will be televised, horrifyingly live and obvious. The six-o’clock news tapes will roll forever. America’s day of shame, lodged in the internet for posterity.

“She’s Gonna Blow, Captain!”

And every Republican slimebag, scalawag and wormtongue will try to pretend that we didn’t see that one coming / had somebody said something to me / it’s all a Democrat hoax, mix and match, rinse and repeat. Senator Lindsey Pittypat will retire to his fainting couch, clutching pearls in one hand, smelling salts in the other. “I didn’t see the film clip” Speaker Bobblehead will claim. Jockstrap Jordan will profess outrage (at something or other, we don’t yet know what).

It’s going to happen. One way or the other. And with it, the whole Rube Goldberg MAGA Clueless Contraption of Cacophony will start wheezing like an elephant with emphysema as it keels over, its mental circuits blown to kingdom come.

“This, Too, Shall Pass….” [courtesy, Cambridge Design Technology]

Whenever and however it happens, it won’t be a pretty sight. It will be the ugliest, most humiliating moment of your life as an American. You’ll recall studying Lincoln, Roosevelt, Kennedy in your history classes….and then the image of someone’s dirty drawers will intervene to fill the space. Nature abhors a vacuum, after all.

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The future belongs to those who can discipline themselves enough both to visualize that foul day as well as what must come after. Thousands of pieces will need to get picked up, one at a time. Elections will still be held, even as they try to arrest more 5-year-olds, drag a grandfather out of his house in boxer shorts in 10 degree weather, raid our neighbors, threaten Greenland, Iceland, Lapland, LegoLand, Never-Never-Land. A disciplined Democratic opposition to such ghastliness cannot simply express outrage, it must formulate the solutions, anticipate the resistance, organize, assemble, donate, keep ranks, stay on point, and in focus. This will be our saving grace — they do not see it coming, but we do. Fortune does not just favor the brave, but the prepared mind.

Be strong, caretakers of our republic. Be brave, like Joshua Chamberlin and the 20th Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment at Gettysburg. Be resolute, like the Battered Bastards of Bastogne at the Battle of the Bulge. Be courageous, like those civil rights marchers in Alabama as committed to non-cooperation with evil as they were to non-violence. Be like the participants in the world’s first Gay Pride Day in 1970, practically jogging to Central Park to avoid being attacked along the way. Be like those unfurling banners in the gallery of the Illinois State Legislature in the early 1980s to support timid men considering voting for the Equal Rights Amendment — “Men of Quality Are not Threatened by Women with Equality.”

There’s work to be done, even without a map or a compass. Pack a lunch and get to it.