Sunday, March 29, 2020

King Cucumber: The Bad Theatre of the Daily Briefing

Have you ever encountered a Sea Cucumber, friends?  They are largely crawling bottom feeders on the floor of the oceans, breaking down scraps and detritus.  To fit into small spaces, it can functionally liquefy its body, and then firm it back up. They have no brain, just a rudimentary nervous system attached to a mouth, and when they are threatened, they will literally eject their guts through their anus to defend themselves.  All very fascinating, for the Wonders of Nature know no bounds, and very useful to the marine ecosystem, but not the qualities one needs when it comes to the leader of the free world.

In the depths of the Great Depression and the Second World War, President Roosevelt took to the airwaves to discuss policy and procedure, helping to calm the worries of an anxious nation.  He calmed fears and dispelled rumours, and went down in history as one of the most effective communicators to ever occupy the White House.

But that isn't what we got, ladies and gentlemen.  Today, in the throes of pandemic, the venal gink occupying the White House gets up every day for the COVID-19 briefing.  And all I can think is, "ye gods... we have elected a sea cucumber." Listening to the chunks of phrases that come splattering from his puckered lips, even the least discerning listener cannot think that this mouth is hooked to a functioning brain.  Lies and misinformation, from the President in time of crisis.  No, no, the perception that he has a spine is just that.  He can't be from the same phylum.

And just press him on an issue, watch the tantrum as he ejects his gut to be devoured.  His own dysfunction provides plenty of food for the media, so there's no need to keep an eye on things.  But ho-ho, King Cucumber, we are watching.  Some of us are watching carefully.

It can be interesting to see such rare animals up close on occasion, but in terms of pathos and narrative, there's very little on offer. But King Cucumber is hungry for adulation.  Rallies used to scratch that itch, but that's now out of the question.  So he daily mounts the podium, spews without thinking, and effectively shits his guts out when pressed on something.  Ho-ho, it would be funny if there wasn't so much at stake.

But we're starting to catch on.  There are far more interesting animals to observe.  Is it any wonder that a number of NPR stations are now no longer airing his briefings in whole? 

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