It is impossible to live in a morally coherent reality and insist that Donald Trump is a good president or even a marginally decent person.
Take solace, friends, in knowing that Trump realizes one important thing: For all the money he inherited, and even though he conned millions of grotesquely inbred morons, closet upper-middle-class racists, and mental deficients into voting for him, the worldwide consensus is that he's equal parts monstrosity, imbecile, and off-color joke.
One day, as he lies dying, bloated and ugly and hopefully in pain, gases leaking out of his various putrid orifices, his already tiny dick and nuts receding further toward his nasty old-an pube-gut complex, his final thought will be, "I was widely hated. Not one person on Earth ever actually loved me, and now I'm about to be rushed to the head of Hell's forced sodomy line, where Hillary awaits with barbed a strap-on."
Better still, we may not have to wait; someone might find a way to take him out, even if that means taking one for the team in the process. It would be interesting to see what sort of material would come pouring out of a newly ad suddenly created hole in his lumpy skull. Some say it would be pure excrement and vomit, but I give him credit for having a tangled ball of roughly human neurons lodged in there somewhere amid all the poop and puke.