One night at a Broadway show, playwright George S. Kaufman found himself seated behind a woman who talked nonstop during the performance. Finally, in the middle of the first act he leaned forward, tapped her politely on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me madam, but don't you have any unexpressed thoughts?"
I remember that anecdote whenever I see one of Donald Trump's diarrheal diatribes on Twitter, the big, impassioned ones which combine the loose, watery stools of his prose with the information overload of the tweetstorm to create a massive, hundred-year shitstorm. But while this can often cause my eye-rolling muscles to cramp from overuse, it isn't all bad, because it suggests the dark, tarry depths of the U.S. security state may be about to receive an involuntary, Sally Field-in-Sybil-style cleanse.
True, Trump is opaque about his taxes, his receipt of emoluments from foreign nations, and his alleged interest in watching pay-for-play tinklebells take a whizz on the bed. But the man can't keep a self-aggrandizing thought inside his skull, so when the military and the CIA -- however reluctantly -- show their new president all the cool secret stuff the government denies it has, he's inevitably going to tweet about it.
So I'm consoling myself, this inauguration weekend, with expectations of seeing Trump pull back the rock from the Deep State like an adolescent boy looking for bugs to torture and blow 70 years of post-Rowell secrecy. Just imagine the selfies: Trump standing beside the salvaged remains of a crashed spaceship at Area 51 (which he'll announce has just been rebranded as "Trump Intergalactic Starport and Casino"). Trump posing with the Timecops ("Blue lives matter...in the future!"). Trump grinning beside the frozen corpses of two dead aliens while he devours a taco bowl.
Sure, we're all going to die, but not without a few laughs at the expense of the CIA and the Pentagon; and if you time your reading of Trump's Twitter feed just right, you may get the last laugh.