Who Wrote the Tweet?

Hey, not sure if you’ve been paying attention, but the president and a variety of other people in and around the administration all have coronavirus. Trump has been at Walter Reed Medical Center since Friday afternoon, after gingerly boarding Marine One and taking to the skies. For the past four days, Trump has been in the hospital, trapped like a juicy little corpse fly stuck in the window between the glass and the screen. Save for an extremely ill-advised trip in a car to wave at supporters on Saturday, that man has not left the hospital—presumably because he’s actually quite ill. With that in mind, the following tweet, which the President or someone acting on his behalf posted Monday afternoon, is curious.

Given the tenor of the president’s other recent tweets, which were a series of 12, all-caps imperatives touting things like the Space Force and 401(k)s, the sudden departure from that tone, which is like your worst friend after a really long night “going skiing,” is jarring. Who wrote the tweet? Someone must have written the tweet that isn’t the president, because my best guess is that he is throwing bedpans at essential workers, screaming about the strength of his body, hopped the fuck up on dexamethasone. In any case, I don’t think he wrote this tweet. Who was it? Who did the tweet? Was it Barron? Dr. Sean Conley, his smarmy lil’ doctor? Was it Eric? Was it Don Jr? Was it Arabella? Did the butler do it? The candlestick maker? The butcher? The ghost of Socks?

It’s anyone’s ball game, as it were, but my best guess is that this is the handiwork of his best and shiniest toy, Ivanka, who somehow does not (yet) have coronavirus, even though she spends so much of her time perilously close to her father’s wet mouth. Ivanka, if you are going to continue to be the proxy for your father on social media, as I assume is the case here, more exclamation points! Sound a little less rational. Consider ALL CAPS. “I feel better than I did 20 years ago!” is some Trump-ass shit, to be sure, but it lacks the verve and the unhinged, sausage-fingered energy of his normal emissions. Please. Ivanka. Be best.