“No one is defending me”
“No one is defending me.” These words were reportedly uttered by Donald Trump, who appears gobsmacked that his supporters and fans aren’t turning out in droves in the New York courtroom to boast of their support and undying love for him.
Salon’s Heather Digby Parton says Trump’s becoming “down in the dumps.” “He reportedly was quite upset that his political allies weren’t in attendance during the first two weeks of the trial.”
Trump should not worry about this because this is a small potato compared to what he will face in prison when the names om his visiting list don’t come popping out of the ether to see him.
The bottom line is for most people, spending hours in a small and sweaty courtroom listening to details of Donald Trump’s sex life is both inconvenient and sickening for the average person, even his friends, and frenemies.
Well, Trump did get SOME support when should-have-been-indicted-because he’s a Medicare-thief Rick Scott braved the stench of Trump’s trial to pay a visit. I am sure the Vice Presidency was not even a blip on his radar.
In general, few appear eager to spend time in uncomfortable courtroom chairs, and who can blame them? But Donald Trump’s mood is set to be highly gloomy — as he’s wondering where all his friends are.
Friends. I’ve always said it’s in bad times—not good times —that one finds out who one’s REAL friends are. This is no different for Donald Trump. Donald Trump’s “friends” aren’t real. They’re a mirage conjured up by a starving man in the desert, a parched man who is lost in the arid heat of denial, as his “good friends” all evaporate leaving him stranded in the Sahara, without a splash of water to save him.
They care naught for him; they never have, and as always, they are showing this through their actions, their lack of support, and their vanishing act — the great vanishing act of “friends,” Donald Trump’s friends who, after all, were always just figments of a VERY active imagination.
