Puttin' on the Ritz

I’ve been knee-deep in spreadsheets for the last while, and yesterday I could only check in a couple of times on the shitshow that is the state visit to the UK. But one of the pieces was this column in The Guardian on the presser (ish) held by Bonespurs and May. And it basically says all I could do, and more.

I’m almost afraid to read—much less listen to—the Piers Morgan interview. But I hope May is removed from the presidential intestine before Morgan starts up. Otherwise, what with the Kleptocrat’s head being permanently installed there, could get a little crowded. And I’m not sure the NHS is equipped to remove blockage of that magnitude.

However, when I saw how Tosser Toddler was tricked out for the state banquet on Monday night, I snorted my coffee through my nose. Apparently no one told him what was expected by way of dress for the occasion and someone had to run out to Moe’s Glam-Spot Prom Rentals™ and mistakenly said, “It’s for a healthy guy weighing 239 lbs with exceptionally long arms. Yeah, that one will do. Doesn’t matter that the waistcoat is cut for an NBA forward, we got a situation here. White tie? No, no—gimme the clip-on. He can’t tie a bow tie and his wife won’t do it for him. And Hope Hicks isn’t available.”

This was the result:

One of the more apt comments on Twitter was, “He looks like he’s trying to smuggle an entire roast pig out of the banquet to snack on back on Air Force One.”

It’s extra delicious that those ridiculously long sleeves really do make his hands look tiny.

At least there’s no room in that getup for him to try to steal any of the silverware.

But I do worry that he’ll return from this junket decreeing that the USMC be kitted out in bearskin hats like the Grenadiers. And he’ll declare a national emergency to get money to buy himself a tiara.