It's a strange world we live in, a world in which a sports website features better opinion pieces than the 'paper of record', but here we are... David Roth of Deadspin wrote a post which echoes a lot of what I've said about Vulgarmort. This particular paragraph describes the Commander-in-Cheese perfectly:
The more worrying part of all this is that there is fundamentally nothing to know about most of what he talks about. Every rank thought-chunk that clears his blowhole is either some legacy beef or bigotry or something Trump learns from his television shows, which feed him attenuated suspicions, a list of ominous what-abouts that hint at some sort of outcome but stop well short of it, and a bunch of leading questions that, by design, cannot be answered. All of this is supposed to shore up a worldview and generate specific political outcomes, but mostly it aims to create a mood—a coiled and claustrophobic sense of being under siege, by someone—more than it does to answer any of the questions it hints at. It doesn’t really add up to anything, but also it can’t; the game is to accumulate.
This is a guy who can never forget a slight, never let go of a grudge. He is still pursuing a quarter-century feud with Rosie O'Donnell, he still smarts from the now-defunct Spy magazine's 1980's caricature of him as a 'short-fingered vulgarian'. He is the perpetual victim, the spoiler child who believes that every time he doesn't get his way is an attack. He is now, for the first time in his life, facing the prospect of being held accountable for his actions. He isn't up against a small contractor who he stiffed, he can't run out the litigation clock by forcing his opponent to run up legal fees. Trump is pure Id, the living embodiment of all seven deadly sins. Things could take a turn for the (more) dangerous when this cornered beast decides to strike out, or stroke out. Hopefully, he'll be holding a grudge against Nancy Pelosi a quarter-century from now, while rotting in a cell in Leavenworth.