The "Most" Corrupt President in History???

Written on another thread, where a writer challenges someone for suggesting that Trump is the "most corrupt" President in history ... to that challenge, I wrote the following:

Well, he may not be the "most" of anything ... but the word corruption certainly applies to this man of lies, deception and self-serving manipulation of everyone and everything around him.

A lot of people were willing to "give him a chance," but after a full year, with constant chaos, and what I see to be the unravelling of American foreign policy, not to mention the collapse of education under DeVos, and the collapse of most everything related to environment, climate and health, there aren't many chances left for this man to show us something good.

I don't know where Trump fits on some kind of scale, but in my eyes, with what little I know of our history, and what it means, I think, to be a leader, a President, Trump reflects something dark and insidious, something hollow and angry ... whether it be his business dealings or his family life, none of it seems to make any sense, and everyone around him is scrambling constantly to stay on their feet, and most seem to stumble, falling flat on their faces, where he wants them to be, believing that everyone else's fall will make him look great.

He's not a nice man - that's obvious to me. He's the first President since 1897, or something like that, to not have dog, and I know why: because a dog knows better than we sometimes what a man is like - he loves nothing or no one except his own image in the mirror and the money he seeks, never satisfied, but alway needing more.

Maybe I'm the blind one. Maybe he's wonderful and sweet and kind; maybe he's a world-class leader, a man of vision and compassion; maybe he's a terrific husband and father; maybe he's deeply spiritual and a man of faith, hope and love. Maybe he is, but I don't see it. Maybe I'm blind ... or maybe not!

A Lunatic in the White House

A word to the reader: read this aloud.
There's cadence in all of this.
A flow of words, and thoughts.
Line by line;
Best read aloud.

We have a lunatic in the White House.
A purveyor of shoddy goods and shabby values.
A man who loved to fire people.
As he ran his small potatoes outfit.
All on Daddy's money.
And the money loaned to him.
Because some thought his hideous name had value.

Trump this they might say.
And then handed over the cash.
To this measly man of no means.
Just a dirty mean man ... mean as a boil on the neck.
As a pit bull chained by fear and hate.
His little mean life.
His dirty mind.
His filthy hands.

A lunatic running the affairs of this nation.
He loves conflict, he says.
Chaos and noise.
The more the better.
He thrives, or so he thinks.
In the rancid stew of arrogance and ignorance.
Know-nothing is his value.
Read-nothing is his defense:
Against a world that exists, in spite of his lunacy.
A world waiting for something, anything.
A word for the world.
Something that makes sense.
But his mouth mumbles the inchoate.
The nonsense of his own defective sense of greatness.
His dirty little hands move about.
He folds his arms and lays down the law of his lunacy.

Even his demented gang of thieves see his lunacy.
The chaos, the noise.
They come and go, this demented gang of thieves.
All hoping to enrich themselves on the tears of America.
All with some kind of deranged sense of power over others.
First-class flights of fancy.
Fancy dining room tables.
Fancy this, and fancy that, they say, with a sneer on their faces.
Looking at America with a cruel smile, smug in their self-containment.

This demented gang of thieves can't stand the lunatic in the White House.
They can't stand themselves, either.
Full of hate and piety and greed and monstrous ideas:
Devoid of life, and hopeless with despair.
Because money can't buy what they want.
So they pile it up higher.
Beg for more from the nations of the world.
When America has been depleted.
Beg for me, creep around for more.
Because they can't ever have enough of the filthy stuff.

And these are the people gathered around the lunatic in the White House.
They sing his song, or maybe their own song.
It's all the same ... full of me, full of themselves, full of festering desire.
For the world. It's what they want. All of it.
Each a lunatic ... all of them.
Destroyers of what little truth there might be in this beleaguered world.
Destroyers of hope for those in the dark night of the soul.
Destroyers of life, because all they can do is take it, take it away.
Fondle and feel it, and then destroy it ... because it's not enough.
More they must have ... more and more, until it's all gone.
Done and gone ... gone and done ... in their lunacy of lust.

The lunatic is looking pretty lousy these days.
A sagging face, a bull-dog mouth, and tired eyes.
He hugs himself, because no one else will.
These are folks who don't hug; they hate it: a real touch to give.
They can't ... they have nothing to give ... they can't hug another.
But only themselves.
So the lunatic hugs himself endlessly ... at every meeting, every moment.
To protect himself from all the bile streaming to him:
Darkness, confusion, bewilderment, fear and the greed.
The greed of others looking to score points with the lunatic.
For a slice of the shrinking pie.
He laughs, they laugh.
They congratulate him.
And pile on the compliments.
While despising him as the scum of their own earth.
Their dirty dungeons of wealth and pride.
Their mansions and their clubs.
Their golf courses and their large, fat, black, cars.
Paid for by tax-payer money.
What a deal for them.
A ripoff for the nation.
This lunatic in the White House.