There is a deepening medical mystery surrounding the Trump administration and key members of his party, and it is one that has failed to gain the appropriate attention.
After having watched all of Trump’s various defenders and spokespeople for four years, I am left with a burning question. I am not sure what exactly is going on, but as a retired elementary school teacher with no medical training, I strongly suspect some type of contagious neurological disease has been making its way through Trump world.
I have this theory because there is obviously something wrong with the facial muscles of everyone who speaks in defense of the President.
Take the truly beautiful Kaleigh McEnany, for instance. Today I saw her on the news. She was asked by a reporter why her boss refuses to support the use of face masks. She said this,
“President Trump has always supported wearing masks.”
And she did not laugh. She did not smile. Or smirk. Or wink. Her face remained perfectly frozen. She kept her straight face. It was eerie.
Then there is Mark Meadows, POTUS’s current Chief of Staff. Trump has been accused of being almost functionally illiterate by a whole host of people who know him well. They say his intelligence briefings have to be full of pictures, or he can’t understand them.
But Mark “Please don’t fire me next” Meadows defended his boss, saying,
“He reads probably more than anybody I know which causes me to have to read more because every morning he’s given me a to-do list, every evening he’s given me a to-do list.”
He didn’t blink, squint, grimace or guffaw. Once again, a bizarrely frozen face.
While I am not a neurologist and have never played one on TV, I know that there is a direct connection between the fibbing section of the human brain and the laughing muscles. I also know, having taught elementary school for two decades, that the more outrageous the whopper, the more uncontrollable the laughter that follows.
So, when I see Lindsey Graham earnestly proclaiming that Trump has done a great job of reacting to the pandemic, with nary a giggle to be heard, I know that something is seriously amiss.
Listen, I hate to be putting conspiracy theories out there, but what if Trump reached out to the makers of hydroxychloroquine and they created a Russian-style neurotoxin that interferes with the neurotransmitters in the hilarity center of the brain? They give the potion to Trump, and he slathers the stuff on his hands. I mean, his own face is so flaccid that sometimes he looks like he already dead. Trump ingests the neurotoxin every day, which is why he can look the entire world in the eye and proclaim that he is the chosen one, and not chortle. He can claim to know more about Isis than the generals without even cracking a smile. He has achieved a permanently straight face.
Next, Trump infects everyone around him by shaking their hands, or (in the case of the lovely Ms. McEnany) rubbing his hands up and down their arms. And presto! All of his spokespeople and enablers are now able to tell the stupidest, most easily disprovable lies without losing it in a fit of hysterics.
Sound far-fetched? Maybe.
But then you explain how Sean Spicer said this without bursting out into guffaws:
“This was the largest audience to ever witness an inauguration, period — both in person and around the globe.”