GOING, GOING ...

This week, we got even closer to the end of this long national nightmare ...

Type enough opinion and if yer lucky, you might hit on a premise that smells better and better the longer it bakes.

Lately (exactly four weeks ago), I decided there wasn’t a chance in the world, the most dangerous and grotesque man on the planet was going to make it another three-and-a-half years contaminating our White House, and the minds of the poor children growing up in all these MAGA households, who might never learn of things like manners, compassion, or the truth.

Donald Trump had just surrendered to the younger, wiser leaders at the G7 meetings in Canada so he could return to the safety of home, a pat on the head from adoring monsters like Stephen Miller, and some much-needed rest in the steel-reinforced bed he punishes each night with his hulking stink.

He had stalked off with his nuclear football, head down, fat, rounded shoulders tearing at his too-tight blue suit … short arms hanging straight down in front of his beach ball belly … that yellow, five-foot tie dangling in front of him like a broken leash.

He was weak, diminished … pathetic.

At the time I posited this:

“Instead of wondering if our country will survive the next three-plus years, this question should be asked instead: Will the grotesque and failing Donald Trump survive that long?”

Since that time long ago in June, I have only been emboldened by my new-found hope and enlightenment. While he continues to inflict maximum damage on Americans every hour or so, the loathsome man who spurred an attack on our country and did nothing about it for three hours, is dying right in front of our eyes.

Last Sunday in my piece End Date, I put about 1,000 words into making the case, that bare minimum, Trump was crashing:

“He is literally abandoning the world and isolating himself in his safe, golden cocoon. Each day he is becoming tinier and cheaper as his old attention-grabbing schtick now dribbles off his chapped lips and onto his stained bib. He is the old man screaming at people he can no longer see to stay off his lawn. The world doesn’t much care. They are moving on, forming new alliances, because they, too, know how to read an actuarial table.”

Each day he was making my case: He’ll never make it.

Of course had Joe Biden said and done as many stupid things as King Crud, and surrendered at the G7, the media would have carried him away on a stretcher all by themselves. But we know what’s going on here, and CBS-TV only confirmed it this week, when they shot the messenger, Stephen Colbert, instead of the 300-lb., orange, America-attacking thug that the brilliant entertainer has been endlessly warning us about.

Walter Cronkite’s CBS, is now a mouthpiece for fascism. Who saw that coming 50 years ago when so many of us of a certain age were huddling around the TV each night watching “the most trusted man in America?”

While we were all busy digesting the news of CBS’ latest massacre this week, we learned that sure enough, Trump was diminishing physically almost as quickly as he was mentally. Turns out, there was a reason for his swelling ankles and dying skin.

I put this this Reuters photo here, as well as the one above, for your inspection:

I apologize late for ruining your lunch. At least I didn’t provide a picture of his face.

Turns out, Trump allegedly has a condition called, chronic venous insufficiency.

Of course, nobody is ever going to know what is really going on with him, especially when he hauls out White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt in front of a podium to tell her Christo-fascist stories.

Leavitt wanted us to believe the flesh-eating scab on the back of King Crud’s hand was — are you ready for this? — “consistent with minor-soft tissue irritation from frequent handshaking and the use of aspirin, which is taken as part of a standard cardiovascular prevention regimen.”

Seriously.

You can always tell how big the lie is going to be by the size of the cross Leavitt has slung around her neck at the time.

Whatever is going on with the failing Trump right now, I want to be among the first to suggest he try chugging some Lysol to help with it …

The rare admission that Teflon Don had some serious scratches no doubt had to do with so far unsuccessful efforts to deflect from this developing Epstein story, that like his skin-eating virus, they just can’t seem to make disappear.

This could all be settled in 19 seconds, of course, if Trump demanded his personal lawyers in DOJ just release everything they have on the case.

He won’t, though, because he’s guilty as hell. The rotten man who has never seen a woman he wouldn’t gleefully abuse, is now the one being cornered.

You’d think this would be the only thread our media would be pulling on right now, but again I digress expecting anything nudging up to real journalism from so many of these incompetent, bought-off phonies.

Even with the media’s ham-handed treatment of this story, it has had surprising staying power. It turns out some Mega-MAGA in the cult aren’t happy King Turd won’t just show us this “deep state” Epstein list they believe Democrats have suppressed for years now.

I will suggest we all keep pushing for the release of this information and doing everything we can to keep this story alive, even if MAGA will eventually come around to their cult leader’s side no matter what.

Look, roughly 95 percent of Trump’s voters know all that “deep state” stuff is complete bullshit. Just like they know he is a lying bigot. Just like they know he lost the election in 2020.

By now, we should all understand that they stay with this grotesque asshole for one reason only: He takes great delight in hurting everybody they hate ...

This, more than anything, explains his staying power, and why people who tell me that a President JD Vance would be even worse have it completely wrong, and need only read some history to understand why.

Like Hitler, Trump is once-in-a-lifetime monster who isn’t easily duplicated. His hate is genuine, and touches certain people deep inside their tiny, broken hearts.

Pure evil doesn’t always have an easy definition, but we know it when we see it.

But all monsters have an expiration date, and the spiraling Trump is harrumphing toward his. There will be more health issues and steady decline in the months ahead, until one day, he decides he’s had enough, and would rather spend what’s left of his miserable life pulling political strings from some golf cart, instead of being chained to the White House, and relentlessly fighting off the truth.

He always does the most selfish thing.

He better hurry, though, before the Grim Reaper shows up at the White House one day, and makes the decision for him.

(D. Earl Stephens is the author of “Toxic Tales: A Caustic Collection of Donald J. Trump’s Very Important Letters” and finished up a 30-year career in journalism as the Managing Editor of Stars and Stripes. You can find all his work here.)