Trump’s first 30 days were punctuated by fuck-ups, failures and meaningless campaign promises.

It’s 1:30 Tuesday morning, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to sit at my desk typing right now because I’ve got a miserably high fever and I feel like CRAP. In case you’re interested my fever is 101.2°. “Normal” for me is around 96°, which means 101.2° is really HIGH. Also: 1) my joints and muscles are killing me; 2) I’m sweaty and hot as an iron; and 3) I have zero bladder control. ZERO! If that’s too much information please figure out how to deal with it. Thank you.

Introducing “Tiny Trump” ... let’s all laugh at our Asshole-in-Chief!

Know what? It’s 5:15 Saturday afternoon and Sam is unwell. We’re not exactly sure what’s wrong with him aside from a low body temperature (96.5°), tired feet and overall fatigue, so he ate a fresh grapefruit cup from Costco and decided to treat himself to a nap in the family room. As for yours truly, I’m here in the study with the Howdygram and a bowl of Manischewitz canned matzo ball soup ... and I’ve got a few of my own health issues, such as: 1) a full-blown TASTE DISORDER due to diabetic neuropathy where everything I eat tastes like fucking cardboard; 2) an INTESTINAL DISTURBANCE; and 3) very bad BURNING SKIN PAIN on the back of both thighs because I forgot to ask my resident caregiver (i.e., Sam) to apply barrier cream after my shower this morning. It’s extremely uncomfortable to sit at my desk right now and, as a result, I might have to shlep back to the chaise in the family room and watch a Myrna Loy movie. It’s always something, isn’t it?