R.E. is not-a-mere-'pundit'; his for-pay/livelihood is in bringing acerbic, al-punte ripostes (here, 'generalizations' fail) -vs- say (?) PBS's oft cowering blandness in the face of Outrageous drivel (and dribble) which demands full Dissection and not "let's forever Stay in-the-middle here". That said, I exercise the Commons' Rights re 'samples' via an excerpt today:

[Can't show the surreal photo-montage as Header; no 'src' because ©]

Faces swell and leer in the hideous chamber of lies. A mannequin moves as if motorized into the sky chamber, surrounded by human curiosities, such as the oldest man in the world and a pretty dwarf. A chorus of lunch ladies in white sit primly together in ostentatious solidarity.

Suddenly all is still and dark and my throat tightens as I imagine clouds of gas streaming in to kill them all — then a sudden shrill bark and the Living Caricatures, an a cappella group of Evil Bankers from Movies, streams forth instead, trying somehow to pick the Congressmembers’ pockets through their handshakes. And then another bark, and then a red streak, a streak like a bloody gash, appears in the maw of the crowd, and it is on the chest of a giant, a giant with straw for hair and the scowling visage of a long-imprisoned madman. But he does not babble like a madman; Judy Woodruff and Mark Shields babble for him; Shields’ jowls reach down to the ground and pool. The red streak of blood does not seem to trouble the giant, and then the blood turns into a tie, and we know we are in the presence of Trump.

Trump manfully works his dentures. He squints and cocks his head. He says words like breakthrough and citizen but I see over his head his real thoughts, which are “gggggg,” “skkkrrr,” “pussy, gotta get pussy,” and grey frozen clots that represent tuneless humming. He is talking about unity, and his voice tries to be husky, but instead it sounds like what happens to your grandpa’s voice when he gets tired. Also he sniffles, struggles for breath. I see the Adderall bubbling in his veins, pink and blue.

He speaks of “Annivers-erries.” He mentions D-Day. This takes a second to kick in with the crowd. He narrows his eyes and nods, as if to say, “suckers!” He has unearthed three D-Day survivors, whom all of course cheer. Then he mentions the moon landing, calls up Buzz Aldrin, who from his skybox salutes and swallows hard, trying not to punch a bitch. Trump says we will go back to space “with American rockets... there is nothing anywhere in the world that can compete with America.” Under his clothes, his epidermis, his guts growl and hiss; the Republicans’ grinning faces turn to pork loins.

His hair has become a smudge. The smudge is all I can look at; the animated mudpie of his face is too awful. The smudge promises everything will be better than ever. Everyone goes RRRRRRRRRR RRRRR, hands go CPCPCPCPC. The smudge calls for cooperation. The lunch ladies don’t give a shit. AOC says with her eyes: Fuck you, old man. The smudge calls for coalitions. “Vision of vengeance,” he summons. “Incredible progress or pointless destruction.”

Maybe the smudge is not slow just because he’s sinking into senile dementia. Maybe this is him working to sound statesmanlike. The tiny flecks under the smudge are not moving as much nor as lubriciously as usual. But when he says “death taxes on family farms” his Mussolini pout shows he can still luxuriate in a lie sometimes if it’s good enough. His voice becomes dreamy, floaty; “our economy is the envy of the world” is a child’s prayer, amplified to excite our wonder, an effect in a planetarium show.

[. . .]

---

Will that Do?
If interested, Google him; send a few bucks so he can feed his cats (I merely presume he's a Cat-people as he's pretty good at mmRRR-OWWW-rr-grade fulminations.
(Also too: the Orange Menace said not a Word of recognition of er.. you know.. [?} Oh ... Yess: that Climate Elephant in all the rooms.)

I mean: where iS that audio for ... "What we have here is a failure to c'mmunicate", hmmm?

(Shown recently on Amanpour & Co,): b&w video of Brando on Dick Cavett show, wherein he does an instant, sorta "guide to what's going on in Cavett's brain",
as he does What he Does.

Cavett's rejoinder, "I feel like I just lost all my clothes!"