But Puerto Rico? Aren't these the kind of brown and black people who lived in his precious Big Apple, the same kind, like blacks, he purposely kept out of his apartment houses? This was a problem. These are not really people, or better yet human beings to the dotard, no, they are fleas, something this germaphobe possibly considers worst than vermin, like, uh, icky bugs, not worth his time, much less his stingy compassion, if there is any.
So the blithering exalted dotard flicked them from the sleeve of his thousand dollar sport coat as if they were specks of lint, perhaps something to complain about to his White House valet. His answer to the pain, the crying out for help, the suffering and starving and dying of the little insignificant mostly worthless parasites on the ass of the real America, was to shrug his beefy shoulders and claim that they are “an island with a lot of water on all sides, a lot of water, deep water...” He implied that they were mostly beggars, unworthy of any aid, though he was magnanimously doing his best to send aid, yes, he was being big about these leeches, these non people; and his people, his minions, were doing a very good, very great, unbelievably great job of helping these strange brown and black people whom he guessed could not help themselves, poor dumb helpless wretches.
When the lady mayor of San Juan, the capitol, cried out for help and challenged his claim of “doing a great job,” he took a little time off from his sprawling green links to insult her with a bevy of nasty tweets, the exalted dotard outraged that this flea, this gnat, this icky bug, this nothing, this nobody, dared question his greatness, his benign intentions, his huge heart!
Thumbs down on you, bitch!
Finally, after a weekend of blustering and blithering about, the dotard was shamed into visiting the tiny little island he castigated for a photo op where he forced a squeamish smile to the lady mayor and quickly dismissed her, hating it, of course, having to stoop, and held a conference where he pointed out that this entire leveling of a state or country really pushed his budget out of whack, as if to say, “Well, Texas, Florida, those are real states, real Americans, but you...gnats, fleas, bugs, I guess we'll have to find a little time for you, too...”
He brought up the deaths in Katrina, compared to Puerto Rico, perhaps indicating these little fleas should be thankful it was not worse, should stop complaining, and bow down to the exalted dotard, much as North Koreans bow down to their “Rocket Man.”
A man of the people, he praised the flunkies in PR who praised him, snubbing the brave young mayor who crossed him. He wore this absurd faux yacht jacket and tossed out paper towels to his fleas, watching them scramble for crumbs, the lordly dotard full of himself, for it is never about the suffering of others, the ruination of lives, the destructing of an entire state, no, it is about the exalted dotard, his trophy model wife beside him while the little people bow down, accepting his crumbs, hoping not to be flicked off the silken sleeve by the most powerful man in the world.