In the land of the mad king

The so-called National Prayer Breakfast brings out the most unhinged ravings from the Orange Toddler. It's not our resident lunatic's most natural environment (might that be a bordello?) so his disordered freak flag flies. He offered an uninhibited glimpse of his disordered psyche the other day.  By way of Heather Cox Richardson: 

at the National Prayer Breakfast, Trump told attendees: “They rigged the second election. I had to win it. I had to win it. I needed it for my own ego. I would’ve had a bad ego for the rest of my life. Now I really have a big ego, though. Beating these lunatics was incredible, right? What a great feeling, winning every swing state, winning the popular vote. The first time, you know, they said I didn’t win the popular vote. I did.” 

This is a sick man.

As the opinion writer and historian Jamelle Bouie wrote recently "This isn't sustainable." Trump's prayer breakfast antics are in the same category as his crazy note to Norway complaining about not being awarded the Nobel Prize. (No, Norway doesn't award the prize ... but he's butt ignorant.)

... most coverage of Trump treats him as president in a functional way even if he doesn’t perform the civic duties of the office. His letter to the prime minister of Norway suggests that this is a mistake. It shows that he is essentially unable to serve as president of the United States, that he is as temperamentally and psychologically unable to engage with the practical as he is the symbolic, and that he has totally collapsed the distinction between his interests and those of the country, if he even recognized them in the first place.

The uncomfortable truth is that the president of the United States is a man with the mind of a spoiled child. His debilitating solipsism is a threat to the stability of the entire world. A functional Congress would impeach and remove him. But the Republican majority is in a codependent relationship with the president, unable to separate his identity from that of their party. And the president’s advisers are either cowed supplicants desperate to please or scheming viziers eager to use his power for their own ends. There is no one, then, to pressure Trump to resign like there was for Nixon.

In John McTiernan’s 1990 film adaptation of “The Hunt for Red October,” Fred Thompson, in the years before he was elected as a Republican senator from Tennessee, delivers a haunting warning as he, and Alec Baldwin’s Jack Ryan, observe a deadly naval disaster. “This business will get out of control. It will get out of control and we’ll be lucky to live through it.”

We have three years left with a mad king. It does not feel sustainable. 

In this year of the 250th anniversary of this country, we'll be reminded we once were subject to another king who contemporaries diagnosed as nuts. (This will probably be argued this year; everything in history is) The courtiers around mad King George III eventually locked him in an asylum several times. Eighteenth century practices for treating madness almost certainly just made the guy more miserable. 

Can't somebody just slip our current mad king some nice erectal function drug that allows him to float off into haze of imaginary adoring bimbos and leave the rest of us alone?