On The Third Day He Rose Again.

 He is the Messiah. And he is a very naughty boy. 

Like this but with Donald Trump chasing Hollywood left wingers from an underground tunnel full of kidnapped children

So Trump's out of hospital. He was dramatically (always with the drama - in his own mind he's wearing a sweaty vest and leaping from a water tower in a Sharknado movie) airlifted to a military hospital after testing positive for Covid (along with almost everybody in the White House, apparently). He's been dosed up with all manner of experimental drugs (though not the bleach, hydroxychloroquine or some kind of magical intravenous flashlight that he thought might work on the American people) and a shit ton of steroids. Side effects from the steroids include mania and grandiose delusions, but how these would be distinguishable for his ordinary behaviour is hard to say. 

On the third day Trump elected to leave the hospital, again by helicopter, descending from the whirlybird with his own Praetorian guard, in full hair and make up and crucially a mask. Upon reaching a raised dais at the White House (something he apparently did multiple times for the camera angles - no wonder he was out of breath) he whipped off the mask with a Bob Fosse snap. It was a clear message on a number of levels: he would no longer be silenced, he would no longer be in thrall to the disease. The President, having symbolically died for us, was returned from the Underworld. He had defeated Covid and stood before the American people as the redeemer they had always wanted: a conflation of Christ and Caesar: a worldly God, who would only turn over the moneylenders in the Temple if they were suckers and he could get the drop on them. "They're selling doves in there? Who's eating doves? Schmucks."

His base will be ecstatic. Its a Cult of Personality after all, or whatever that thing is that Trump has instead of a personality: a bubbling cauldron of base cunning, smash 'n' grab lechery, schadenfreude and greed. Which is the stuff they like. It makes him "real". When he's obnoxious and rude he's "telling it like it is". When he's philistine, tacky and a boor that's "the common touch", which implies America's self-esteem is not high. When he endorses right wing groups and huddles up to gun nuts and says that scientists are bullshitting nerds it gives them a warm tingle. After all, that loud mouthed arsehole in the bar knows as much about stuff as some poindexter with a Petri dish and he doesn't like to be told he's wrong. Trump will never tell him he's wrong. Trump will mouth every one of his prejudices back to him and tell him he's a great guy and offer to buy him a brewski (but not actually buy him one). I'm not looking forward to this election. There's too much at stake. Perhaps the soul of America. There will be blood and fire. Soup cans will be thrown. Brother will breathe on brother.    

Meanwhile in England nothing works. People are still getting Covid. The Prime Minister suggested that people should go to the cinema to see James Bond, though the theatres are shut and most of the North East is basically under lock-down. He suggested that perhaps the "Eat Out To Help Out" initiative may have caused a Covid spike, whereas Rishi Sunak said it didn't and it was important people continued to eat out in restaurants because people need jobs and, you know, fuck it. 

It was the Tory party conference and they did on-line in what looked like the studio from the end of Ghostwatch. Boris Johnson's shtick does stink when he's without an audience and each line ended with tumbleweed, cicadas and a lonely church bell. At one point he referenced 90s pop band M People. Hard to know if it was a carefully scripted gag or an off the cuff remark at this point. You want this stuff from Miranda - not the Prime Minister. Boris has learned Trump's law that if you blurt out a load of mad shit that's what the press will report. It will take precedence over the incompetence, the confusion and contradiction: you just print a picture of Boris with Heather Small's up-do on the front cover of The Sun tomorrow and the job's a good un.