Jon Stewart on Trump's Jesus Photo
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In age, Trump and I are separated by less than a year, and so His Malignancy’s father was approximately the same age as my Dad.
When my Dad was a young man, he worked at a Rochester, New York, grocery store called Mohican Market.
Every week, a liveried chauffeur would deliver a woman in a fancy car to Mohican’s.
The grande dame was an ostentatious, obstreperous woman, and - with the punctuality of a Swiss clock - she let it be known to everyone in the store that “her highness” had arrived.
Upon arrival, she would pontificate to the owner of Mohican’s - in no uncertain terms, and at considerable decibelage - the latest outrage perpetrated by “the damned papists.”
One of the ongoing marvels of my life is that the ferocious animosity directed (just over a half century ago) by Protestants toward Catholics, goes entirely inadverted.
To be fair, Roman Catholicism taught with a doctrinal certainty that all human souls "OUTSIDE the Catholic Church" would - at best - proceed to limbo when they died, and probably to hell.
There was even a Latin phrase, not unlike an Islamic fatwa, that said, “extra ecclesiam, nulla salus” - "outside the Church, there is no salvation."
In any event, Trump is the most vengeful, punitive, cruel, self-centered, self-aggrandizing, solipsistic son-of-a-bitch to have visited our planet in recent centuries. And so, it is easy to imagine "Lingering Orange Fart" having singular animus toward Catholics, in particular toward the pope.
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