I see two masks. Apparently there are still two people in the administration who give a shit about other people. Tell me old Deputy Dawg Ross fell asleep before it was all over. He'll be lucky if he doesn't contract covid-19, because he sure doesn't look like someone who could survive it.
I suspect Daniel Dale was handling this CNN fact-checking Trump in real time. Kudos.
She needs to work on her poker face.
And in payback is a motherfucker news...
The Nazi uniform she wore for her speech has been paid in full.The first lady also had her social media moment in the spotlight on the final night of the convention, wearing a dress that easily allowed her to be “green-screened”. The internet soon went to work and before long she appeared variously to be endorsing Joe Biden, the nation’s coronavirus death toll, and the weather.
Guardian
Just disgusting.
UPDATE:
By the time he hit the middle-school history textbook peroration of Thursday night’s extended violation of both pandemic safety protocols and federal law, El Caudillo del Mar-a-Lago could barely stand up for falling down.
[...]
(If he’d ever had the aesthetic sense god gave a goat, I would have wondered if his exhausted affect was a result of his being confronted with some of the worst writing ever handed to a politician. There were crows cawing on the South Lawn of the White House Friday morning that were more uplifting than this.)
[...]
Back when I was a sports columnist for a daily newspaper, I would have to write a column off the Boston Marathon every year. This ensured that I was always around at the finish when the noble souls who’d been on the road for four or five hours would stumble triumphantly down Boylston Street and collapse over the finish line. Except for the part about being noble, that’s what the president looked like at the end of his 66-minute address. For the most part, someone managed to keep him chained to the teleprompter, which must have taken all the strength he could muster. The crowd, ummasked, much of it, did the best it could to pep him up, chanting and cheering...and, very likely, spreading the virus. But he still sounded as though every word weighed 50 pounds.
By now, the staggering cargo of lies and misinformation has been ground into a fine powder by dozens of people tasked with that thankless job. [...] But it was his exhausted aspect that most interested me. Is it possible that the burden of being a monstrous fraud his whole life has become too much for a septuagenerian to bear? The newspapers are filled these days with his own family members giving him up. If he wins re-election, he will be stuck in a job he hates until he’s 78 years old. That has to look like a long, dark road ending in a darker place.
I have no illusions—or sympathy. Perhaps, once he’s out doing rallies again, unfettered by prepared texts, he’ll draw strength from his adoring crowds. He has to get re-elected to keep himself and a lot of other people safe from hungry prosecutors. Whoever is running him, here and abroad, likely still has plans for this country. And his base of support remains solid, even though everything on top of it is wavering and tottering. But, on Thursday night, none of that mattered. He ran down a calendar of American greatness like a man asking the attendant for more pudding. Being president kept him up way past lights out.
Charles P Pierce
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