Weirdest thing. I had just come back from my first-ever treadmill stress test. Never had done such a thing before. They tape all these little squares on your chest, have you walk on the treadmill at 1.7 miles an hour at a certain incline, take your pulse and blood pressure, then increase the thing to 2.5 miles an hour and up the incline, then increase the pace to over 3 miles an hour, upping the incline, continually monitoring the blood pressure, the pulse, all kinds of other stuff on their screen. And then comes the stress test — they tear each of those ten stickies off your chest. Unless you are into masochism or are a woman (it being assumed that, as a conservative, you agree with the premise that men and women are not exactly identical), that is murder.
I had just returned from the stress test, thankful to G-d for the results reported to me, and there was Rear Admiral Ronny L. Jackson, personal physician to the President of the United States, on television reporting to the media on the health of President Trump. Although I was under serious time pressure, having already lopped off a chunk of my day for the cardiologist visit, I had seen something like this in the past and knew that it runs maybe five or ten minutes, so I watched the doctor report that the President is in very good health with some really excellent data to support the report. Five, ten minutes. Done.
And then the circus began, as it can do so only in the hellhole that is known as the James S. Brady White House Press Briefing Room. (The word “hellhole” is an appropriate term in the English language because United States Senator Lindsey Olin Graham of South Carolina uses it to describe countries in South America, Central America, and other Third World countries where people do not look like the denizens of Canada or Norway.) It was, for lack of a better phrase, a Teachable Moment in American History, the day that the media circus unraveled in full public view of the American public as an assemblage of maniacs akin to a kin waiting for a rich uncle to die. It was like all the children and nephews, nieces, siblings, and grandparents of a hated billionaire gathered to hear news from the doctor that Father/Uncle/Grandpa is going to die any minute, and all his money will be distributed to them. The eagerness and excitement in the room was palpable as the circus unraveled around one predominant theme:
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