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It was a weird feeling. It was eight o'clock on Monday morning, and Donald Trump hadn't made a tweet. Usually by this time the old yapping pube clown had whined at an uninterested America nine or 10 times. What was happening? Was he dead? Was he rearranging his chunks of orange stomach blubber to get them just right so that his ten-foot long red tie would rest on it just perfect? Just having a hard morning on the john? It was probably that.

But never fear, Shitmouth is awake, and whatever he just did in the toilet is the White House staff's problem now! Twitter fingers UP!


He started with some whining about interest rates and the Fed, because he understands neither interest rates nor the Fed, before moving on to one of his favorite whines, about the Fake News Amazon Washington Post, which writes stories what make him feel like the very small man he is.

OK, so we read the article he's bitching about. And we are amused that the part of it that he's mad at is where it said his advisers gave him talking points to read. He doesn't listen to advisers! PRESIDENT HOOKED ON PHONICS CAN'T READ. (Allegedly we guess.)

We know they made him talking points, because we saw his talking points. He was waving them around, and we could see how President How To Read Good And Do Other Stuff Good Too scribbled out "Alcaida" at the top of his paper in his weird and bad handwriting, because we guess that's how his dumb fucking ass thinks it's spelled.

What's funny is that he doesn't seem mad about the rest of the article, which paints him as an idiot who had no clue why people were mad that he tweeted last Sunday morning that four American congresswomen of color should go back to their countries, and had to have Kellyanne Conway explain it to him. It shows an abject moron who spent his morning watching "Fox & Friends" and decided to do political strategy all by himself before he went golfing. (He wanted to divide the Democrats. Instead he accidentally got the Democrats to stop fighting so they could all tell him to keep those congresswomen's names out of his fucking mouth. ART OF THE DEAL, Y'ALL!)

Anyway, so that is what Donald Trump is upset about. He doesn't want you to think he has advisers who gave him reams of paper to read, because that might give people the impression his brilliance doesn't come from within. He wants you to think that his last eight days of stepping on his dick, setting it on fire, and finally eating it, have been 100 percent his work. And in that case, it's a pity he doesn't read well, because the article is pretty clear that each and every batshit stupid move Trump made the past eight days was totally his idea.

So that is the story of that particular bellyaching from this morning's Trump Twitter feed. And then there is this, which tells us where the president's sad and scared little man brain really is:

Oh yeah, it's Mueller Time on Wednesday! Trump has said he won't be watching, which is either fake news like the Washington Post, or the absolute truth, because he'll be spending that day curled up in bed in his bathrobe pooping and weeping at the same time.

He finished -- so far -- with some shit about Iran, because why not, and we're certain there will be more. But let the record show that he sent TEN TWEETS in the space of about an hour, because he is a Stable Genius, and that is what Stable Geniuses with clean bills of mental health do.

You betcha.

Uh oh, one last late breaking tweet:

OK, goodbye!

Oh wait, guess he's back!

Have a delightful week, Mister President.

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Evan Hurst

Evan Hurst is the senior editor of Wonkette, which means he is the boss of you, unless you are Rebecca, who is boss of him. His dog Lula is judging you right now.

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