For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? – Mark 8:36

I know how you feel. Donald Trump is making you miserable. Worse, his actions may even be threatening your well-being. Your health. Your very life. And the lives and well-being of your friends, your family, your community.

You’re probably looking forward to next November a lot. In the meantime, you’re perhaps working for a cause or an organization or a candidate whose mission amounts to “STOP TRUMP.” You’re paying close attention to the impeachment hearings and hoping somehow they’ll derail him. No, you’re not dumb enough to think Moscow Mitch and the White Sheet Gang will convict and remove him under any circumstances, but maybe if we can keep him on the defensive for a few months…

Still, Trump did once famously say “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters” and he was mostly right. Worse, he wouldn’t lose any GOP support on Capitol Hill even if he did it not on 5th Avenue, but in the middle of the State of the Union address.

Nobody who can do the right thing will do the right thing.

I possibly have a small measure of solace for you, if you’re able to extract any joy from raw schadenfreude.

President Donald is miserable. He’s tortured, he’s tormented, he’s emotionally Torquemadad to the nth degree.

His whole life he’s been told he’s right by everyone. He’s had more money than God – more even than a station wagon load of drunk Kappa Sigs could figure out how to blow. He has a phalanx of yes men fighting to crawl up his ass first. He’s been handed passing grades even when he was the worst student in school. He says jump and people say “off which building?” He can tell any lie, grab any pussy, break any promise and the yahoos cheer even louder. The only way he could get more applause is if he actually said “nigger” on a hot mic.

But now … something is wrong. Sure, he’s surrounded by dolts – always has been. That’s the curse of being the smartest man on Earth. But now the mendacious little cunts are turning on him. He can’t trust anyone. He fires you and next thing he knows you’re out there bad-mouthing him, even testifying against him. He goes to a baseball game and 50,000 people boo him. Sure, he can turn around and go to a football game in Tuscaloosa and they’ll cheer like the KGB has a gun in their ribs. But he’s still hearing the echoes of those vermin in Nationals Park chanting “LOCK HIM UP!”

He has to send the Secret Service out to McDonald’s because everybody wants to poison him.

He CAN’T. TRUST. ANYBODY. Except the kids and that bent Jew Kushner. (And he’s not taking his eyes off that little twat, either.)

And who the fuck is Anonymous? Is that traitorous motherfucker in this room right now?

His trophy wife won’t let him near her. So of course he’s wide awake at 3am sitting on his gold toilet tweeting up an unhinged sideways shitstorm. How in the hell could anyone possibly sleep with disloyalty, stupidity and betrayal circling the campfire and getting closer with every pass?

Folks, we all know assholes. We all know users, takers, abusers, and manipulators. We may have been lucky enough to work for the beloved late boss’s drooling hellspawn, knowing our jobs depended on the efforts of people whose sole purpose in life is to save the company from its current owner. We all know bad human beings.

Ask yourself: are those people happy? Or are they pure, rarefied essence of toxicity? What’s it feel like when your insides are being dissolved by a roiling wavepool of bile?

Many think Trump’s brain is deteriorating, and rapidly. Of course it is. Dementia is his only defense against the reality he has drawn close around him.

Donald Trump may be making your life hell, but take some comfort, if you can, in the truth that nothing he’s doing to you, or ever could do, matches the brimstone corroding his own grotesque soul.