Lincoln Square - Trump's Brainworms Are Eating the World
Rick Wilson
Let’s say it out loud, like adults: Donald Trump’s trade and foreign policy isn't policy at all — it's a long, flatulent brainfart in a hypersonic wind tunnel of stupidity. It is the ideological equivalent of eating a Tide Pod for breakfast and declaring war on your toaster. It is unserious. It is reckless. It is dangerous. And it’s being cheered on by a GOP that swapped its last functioning neuron for a red baseball cap and a 40 oz bottle of Olde English 400 Snake Oil.
Trump’s trade war is not some coherent strategy for economic resurgence. It’s a tantrum. A temper flare cooking off in the night like a SpaceX rocket dropping flaming debris into the Caribbean darkness. A sulking billionaire slapping tariffs on Canadian steel like he’s punishing an ex-wife. The man thinks trade deficits are personal insults and that global supply chains are just elaborate plots to steal his lunch money. Trump is the human embodiment of those fundraisers where people smash up a car with sledgehammers: briefly satisfying, but utterly pointless.
Walker Percy talked about our profound modern dislocation of purpose — a spiritual sickness in our identity in the face of modernity. I wish I could turn a phrase as elegantly, but I keep coming back to Trump’s meaning and purpose and nothing appears but roaring chaos and unleashed evil, an incurable case of nationalism-induced brainworms, magnified by the idiocy of the goons he surrounded himself with: sociopaths who look like they were spat out of the muck of a Breitbart comments section, only with less education and intellect.
They must, at a profound level, crave this moment of chaos and destruction. There’s no other viable explanation.
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