A Couple of Thoughts About America’s Little President — Smilingly, Of Course

With each new stage of Trump’s infinite self-diminution and national surrender before the will of Vladimir Putin, the Republican Party’s infinite elasticity and deference to the incredible shrinking president becomes more alarming and nauseating. I cannot help observing how all this Republican shrinkage before the Russian dictator is having the curious effect, whether it be absolute or merely relative, of enlarging and elevating the memory of Senator John McCain, who would most certainly have had the nerve to say the obvious about Trump’s cowardly weakness, while today his entire party hides in the hedge praying that they might escape the toddler’s wrath of their amoeba-king.

I remember a moment, during Barack Obama’s presidency, when there arose a trend among America’s so-called conservatives, including at American Thinker where I was then a regular contributor, of comparing Obama to Anthony Fremont, the main character in the 1961 Twilight Zone episode “It’s a Good Life,” about a six-year-old boy with a supernatural ability to make the physical world conform to his every random thought, such that the adults in his life lived in constant terrified deference to his childish whims, knowing that if little Anthony felt the slightest bit of resistance or objection from anyone, he would lobotomize them or send them to the cornfield forever. This comparison was amusing, as all Twilight Zone references are amusing, but somewhat out of place for describing the absentee, over-his-head Obama, who was usually more like a puppet or well-controlled spokesman than a whim-driven tyrant. The comparison, however, suits a certain other American president to a T: the randomness, the unpredictability, the unchecked childish self-interest, the constant threat of instant tantrums of retribution for all who do not smile continuously at little Anthony, who dare to question little Anthony’s preferences, who fail to fawn over and praise little Anthony loudly enough for each of his immature impulses and demands. But for some reason I don’t hear that episode being discussed anymore among Republican voters. I wonder why. Seventy-five million jacks-in-the-box.