There is no reason in the world to believe a single, solitary word that comes out of this guy’s fat yap.
And every reason in the world to believe that a “diagnosis” does him more than a few favors.
So until I see something more than “Trump said,” it’s no sale.
• Housekeeping note: WordPress has decided to impose its new block editor on those of us who had been resisting the change. So expect a few hitches in the gitalong here at the Chuckle Hut until I find the Rosetta Stone for this fucker or find some alternative method of bloggery.
Mad Blog Media 
You’re not alone there. Playing for the sympathy vote, an excuse to avoid facing Biden, a miracle recovery. Pick one or all. But fingers crossed, bad things sometimes happen to bad people.
The truth is not in this guy, or his people. And if the Donks squeak, “Um, we’d like to see a report from an independent physician,” why, they will be heartless fiends, lacking Christian charity, ANTIFA, etc.
It’s a smart play, so you know it wasn’t his idea.
October Surprise?
What you said.
We have a president that constantly lies, so why should we believe that he is infected? The Melania infection was a nice touch in order to squeeze a tad more sympathy from voters out of his base.
I keep thinking about P.T. Barnum.
But IF it is true, the chickens do come home to roost.
I agree!
Look for Stan’s “miracle recovery,” coming to a 24/7 news cycle near you. Think of it as a hamhanded remake of “El Cid,” but with Adolf Twitler in the title role and him not being all like dead an’ shit.
Interesting idea. Would like to see the actual bug petri dish.
So far, the only Dog-Approved® headline is at The Atlantic: “Donald Trump says he tested positive for the coronavirus.” Which is worth exactly what you think it is.
And he said it on Twitter. It’s worth nothing. The truth is not in him. Nap ever has been.
You think he will pass power to Pence and then get Pence to pardon him for tax evasion?
Man, I do not know. Too many balls in the air. And whatever rules there used to be went into the White House shredder about three and a half years ago. Maybe even before that. I was willing to give Jerry Ford the benefit of the doubt until he pulled our trousers down about 30 seconds after Tricky Dick coptered off to San Clemency.
Well, there is this.