Donald Trump gives no indication he is ever going to have a moment of clarity.
For most cartoon characters that defining moment arrives when an illuminated light bulb hovers about the head of the dufus de jour. However, Trump gives no indication he is ever going to “get it.”
My southern grandmother had a sure-fire remedy to enable dim-witted males, as she put it, to “see the light.”
According to her even the dumbest, severally challenged would turn on a dime once their noggin felt the full force of a ten-inch cast iron skillet.
Grandmother graduated to a higher realm an eon ago, but I like to imagine her having a conversation with The Donald.
For instance, Donald’s statement, “I know words. I have the best words.” I imagine anyone making such an
ignorant unfettered, stupid statement would become acquainted with the back of her skillet post-haste.
After that, a moment of clarity provided by her cast iron skillet would halt Trump’s US withdrawal from the Paris Climate Agreement and he’d agree to let Neil deGrasse Tyson explain climate change to him.
I have no doubt my grandmother would be waiting for Donald’s return visit from Puerto Rico’s hurricane with a two-fold strike from her cast iron skillet. She would explain why the leader of the free country doesn’t throw paper towels at people who have lost everything.
If Trump’s tariff on steel created an increase in the price of cast iron skillets, that would prove to be his undoing.
Grandmother knew how to turn a phrase, or more accurately return a phrase. (I know this from personal experience.) Donald’s schlocky phrase “lock her up” would return to haunt him and he’d find himself cooling his heels in the outdoor smokehouse with the other turkeys.
Thus far, no one has been able to reign in Trump. Perhaps there is a newly elected grandmother in Congress who will bring her cast iron skillet to Washington in January.