The Saga of Donald Trump, Stable Genius
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Now that Donald Trump no longer types up his own confeve, it’s freed his morning Twitter sessions to reach new heights of depths. He can lean back on grease-stained sheets, flap the arms of his PJ’s, and narrate the scary night pictures in his head to a slump-shouldered Hope Hicks who increasingly wonders if it was a really a good idea to play Leia to Trump’s Jabba.

On Saturday morning, Trump wearied Hicks’ gold-chained arms as he dictated a literary classic. Mixing The Lord of the Flies with...

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