This is from an e-mail written by Jonah Goldberg of the National Review. A different take on things:
Dear Reader (including anyone hiding in the bushes),
Good times, huh?
Let’s start . . . here:
"Comey firing is a red herring to distract from the fact that Trump hasn't started building the wall." - Ann Coulter
https://twitter.com/AnnCoulter/status/862072444852588545?utm_source=Sailthru&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=170512_G-File&utm_term=GFileNow, I don’t think this is actually true, but I’ve been told for months now that I have to get better at taking some things seriously without taking them literally. And I think Ann has a point.
So, I’m going to ask my pro-Trump and passionately anti-anti-Trump friends to just take a step back and ask yourselves: “What does Donald Trump’s manufactured, self-inflicted, and pathological need for drama get us?”
If you’re about to answer “Neil Gorsuch,” the everlasting gobstopper of Trump rationalizations, please hold off one second. If you’re about to answer “judges,” please take a moment as well.
Because the correct answer, in policy terms, is . . . nothing. Actually, less than nothing because all this drama makes getting things done harder.
In the best possible light, all the insanity from the president of the United States is St. Elmo’s Fire, a lightshow to entertain us. It’s a Mexican soap opera without the redeeming sex and cleavage. It’s a reality-TV show without the cat fights, stiletto heels, and thrown glasses of wine.
Ask anybody — off the record, of course — on Capitol Hill about whether all this drama helps them get bills passed or judges confirmed. They will laugh at the question.
This is irrespective of any specific policy agenda. If you want a wall that can be seen from space along the southern border, if you want a Muslim ban, if you want to get rid of Obamacare, spend a trillion dollars on infrastructure, or any other core goal of the original MAGA agenda, none of this helps. None of it. Trump was never destined for Mt. Rushmore, but every insane tweet is a step further away from it.
I can only imagine poor Reince Priebus freaking out like Jerry Maguire shouting at Cuba Gooding Jr. in the locker room — “Help me . . . help you . . . help me! . . . help you!” — while an air-drying-naked Donald Trump giggles at the spectacle.