He’s the president. Let him make his own decisions. 
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He must be the literal worst patient in the world. You know his doctors discussed if they could induce a coma just to shut the fucker up and let them do their jobs.
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They’re awaiting the shipment of gold leaf. It’s gotta be classy init?
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As I understand from Chris Bell’s “Bigger, Stronger, Faster”, roid rage only affects 5% of steroid users. And then, you can usually guess who as it’s more of an amplification thing than a Jeckyll/Hyde thing.
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THROW THE BUM OUT. VOTE!
(Yes, BBS, that is a complete sentence. Learn to parse things.)
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LEARN SOME HTML! VOTE!
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You may joke, but the White House does have its own medical facilities, otherwise Trump couldn’t be “discharged” from Walter Reed.
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Vetinari sighed. It was not a sound that a thinking man would ever want to hear. Lord Rust, however, was not a thinking man.
“Look here, Havelock…” Lord Rust was also insufferably familiar. “You have to let us reopen. For the good of the economy, y’know?”
Another sigh. Vetinari was standing at the window - staring out out the twinned city of Ankh-Morpork. He rapped one of the window panes, gently.
“I have the sense that you look at this city like a machine, Rust.¹ A million little cogs and gears all connected into some great engine. A highly productive engine, working for the benefit of a very select few. And now, because of decisions I have made…” he rapped the glass again “… it lies stilled. Silent. Inactive. And entirely unproductive.”
“Well, the Dowel-Djones index is performing terrible, Havelock. All bets are off…”
“I have always found your type perplexing. You talk about conservative behaviour - but you are the first to leap into the most radical positions. Below us we have an incredible machine, built up over centuries - a machine, that, let us be frank, benefits you, and I a good deal more than anyone actually in the machine. And yet you would damage that machine, perhaps irrevocably, in order to maintain a momentary advantage in these new markets?”
Another sigh.
“I am often thankful, Rust, that we live in a dictatorship. And that I am that dictator. We will not be re-opening when the illness still besieges us. Drumknott will direct you out. Do not let me detain you.”
¹.ᵀʰᶦˢ ʷᵃˢ ᶠᵃʳ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵒᵘˢ ᵒⁿ ⱽᵉᵗᶦⁿᵃʳᶦ’ˢ ᵖᵃʳᵗ. ᴵᶠ ᴸᵒʳᵈ ᴿᵘˢᵗ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᶦᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᶦᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᶠʳᵘˢᵗʳᵃᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵃʳᵈᵍᵃᵐᵉˢ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵖˡᵃⁿᵏˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʸᵗʰᵒⁿˢ ⁻ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ’ˢ ʰᵉ’ᵈ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵗᶦᵐᵉ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈᶦⁿᵍ, ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ˡᵒˢᵗ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᶜʰᶦˡᵈ…
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NB: I am also always just a bit low-key worried about Pratchett’s whole benevolent dictator thing - I’m not down for that.
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Frankly, even by the end of Vetinari’s character arc, “benevolent” still felt like a bit of a stretch to me. He knew how to pick out a civil servant, though, which seems an underrated skill these days.
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True. I must admit though that I sat through more than one council or committee meeting, suddenly thinking “why must some sort of dictatorship be necessarily bad?”.
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DonJr isn’t the adult in the room. He just doesn’t want to be the one to explain to the Russian debt collectors that he doesn’t have their money.
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With most meds, SE are difficult to predict. That’s why the list is always a mile long. That said, constipation is a weird steroid SE!
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So I just can’t help myself, totally off topic as it is:
(your handle, dontchaknow)
A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission)
I been Norman Mailered, Maxwell Taylored
I been John O’Hara’d, McNamara’d
I been Rolling Stoned and Beatled 'til I’m blind
I been Ayn Randed, nearly branded
Communist, 'cause I’m left-handed
That’s the hand I use, well, never mind
I been Phil Spectored, resurrected
I been Lou Adlered, Barry Sadlered
Well, I paid all the dues I want to pay
And I learned the truth from Lenny Bruce
And all my wealth won’t buy me health
So I smoke a pint of tea a day
I knew a man, his brain was so small
He couldn’t think of nothing at all
Not the same as you and me
He doesn’t dig poetry
He’s so unhip that when you say Dylan
He thinks you’re talking about Dylan Thomas
Whoever he was
The man ain’t got no culture
But it’s alright, ma, everybody must get stoned
I been Mick Jaggered and silver daggered
Andy Warhol, won’t you please come home?
I been mother, father, aunt and uncled
Been Roy Haleed and Art Garfunkeled
I just discovered somebody’s tapped my phone
Folk rock
I’ve lost my harmonica, Albert
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Paul Simon
A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission) lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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I’m hoping for when the roids wear out that he passes out on camera and falls flat on his face with his comb-over flipping forward toward the camera.
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She would have destroyed Trump in the debate using a withering look.
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There was enough of a difference between the WH medical unit and Walter Reed that Cheeto was sent there over the weekend. I was making a snide comment that while he was at W. Reed, they raided hospitals to bring the WH unit up to W. Reed levels.
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I would watch out for the elves though. How else would trump get his loyal supporters?
Is Putin an elf?
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Thank You. It is a great song, and certainly relevant to the current situation. I picked my handle because a Polemic will rant about anything, whereas a Philippic only rants about politics. Rant on, folks.
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