Poor little Donald Trump. Yes, I do mean little.
First he had to deal with the disclosure of his inordinately short sausage fingers. Then he was forced by Little Marco to defend his manhood and illuminate us all during a debate that “everything is just fine down there.”
Now it seems that even his inauguration was small.
Most of us wouldn’t be ashamed if our inauguration were smaller than a black guy’s. But when you’re the king of all that’s gold-plated, terrific, amazing, and bigly, I guess it’s the kind of thing that’s a full-frontal affront to your false narrative; so much so that Trump sent this dildo out to perform the worst one-man play since Clint Eastwood at the 2012 GOP convention.
For most of us, winning the Presidency would be more than enough, but not for Trump. His fragile ego, born of whatever dysfunctional Daddy issues he’s carrying around under that bad comb-over, needs hyper validation.
Trump’s narcissism is like a pet goldfish – it’s orange and needs to be fed daily.
like an infant that sees the world only in terms of his own existence. When he hears another being complimented, he interprets it as a criticism of himself and must quickly remind us how awesome he is – whether by 3 a.m. tweet or 2nd-grade-level superlatives. In the infantile world of this simpleton in a fake billionaire’s body, everything is binary. There are no grey areas. There is no middle ground. There is no subtlety. Things are to be either praised or scorned. They are only good or bad. Amazing or terrible. And of course, big or small. All of which are synonymous, in the Trump mentality, with “success” or “failure.”
Trump’s perverted perspective means that everything (literally everything) is something to be won or lost. A business deal, a debate, an interview, a twitter war, even an opinion. All have some kind of inherent winning or losing built into it.
Even though there were handsful of excuses (real or perceived) that could have been relied on if Trump were ever questioned about the attendance at his inauguration, he instead insisted on going on the offensive at this incredible slight, claiming that the whole thing was a falsehood woven from misleading camera angles and a deliberately hostile press pool.
So, when it turned out that Saturday’s women’s marches were several-fold larger than Donald’s little coronation party, that must have been especially emasculating.
Imagine that. Trump was dwarfed by comparison two days in a row.
Donald, it’s ok. I hear your event was about the size of most guys’.