Hallo Readers,

Last Saturday at around 6 30 am, the President of the United States woke up, did whatever men of a certain age need to do when they wake up and then reached for his mobile phone, letting forth a series of inflammatory tweets. Most people expel their shit in the toilet. Trump expels his on Twitter.  This time, he accused his predecessor of tapping his phone the previous October. This was “Watergate!”, he raved. This was “McCarthyism!”, he told us. Obama was a “bad (or sick) guy”. Trump was so distraught about this flagrant assault upon his constitutional rights and upon democracy that an hour later he was busy taking a pop at Arnold Schwarzenegger for getting fired from The Apprentice.  That is the nature of the man. Unthinking. Uncontrolled. Unconcerned about the truth. Un-fucking-believable.

The world waited for something, anything, resembling evidence in support of his Obama allegations. And it is still waiting.  And will wait a very long time. Trump insists that the “wire tapp” did happen. The idiot cannot even bloody spell. The Deputy Press Secretary, motherhood-and-apple-pie-made-flesh Sarah Huckabee Sanders, appeared on the weekend talk show circuit and floated various turds across the bowl, none of which made any sense. She told us that the President was entitled to ask Congress to investigate his allegations because they had previously been aired by the Guardian and the BBC and the New York Times. This was untrue because none of those outlets alleged that Obama was personally involved in tapping Trump’s phone. That was spouted only by a crackpot AltRight shock-jock and crackpottier Alt-Right website, Brietbart. And when did the New York Times and the BBC stop peddling FAKE NEWS and start informing the President about stuff? Sanders also maintained that the President was entitled to know if the allegations were true, although he had already asserted and continues to assert that they were true.  Sanders was bad as in shockingly, mortifyingly, horribly, bad but then we got the actual Press Secretary Sean Spicer. According to Spicey, it was not appropriate for the President to provide Congress with actual proof of the allegations because of the “separation of powers”. On that logic, not that it is logic, Trump can accuse anyone of anything and then demand Congress waste time and resources investigating it without being providing even the most basic proof. The Clintons are in league with the Martians! Obama regularly rapes cats! John McCain was linked to the assassination of JFK…. Oh hang on. Sorry. According to Trump, that was Ted Cruz’s dad. And whilst we are on the subject, didn’t Trump promise to cut out unnecessary expenditure? Except the cost of flying his whole family down to Florida every weekend so that he can play golf. And except the cost of taking the Nation’s mind off actual and credible evidence of contacts between his team and Russia? The same Russia that leaked emails about Clinton so crucial to Trump’s electoral success. That Russia. 

Here’s the thing, Readers. Trump was elected to “drain the swamp” but the swamp is now filling up with poisonous snakes and all manner of effluent emanating from the Trump circus. Who cares if we said this? Now we are saying that. Why does it matter if we can’t substantiate a claim? Investigate it anyway. So what if our National Security Adviser and our Attorney-General lied about their contacts with Russia? We’ll just start a shit-storm to cover it up.  Never apologise. Never explain. It worked before, did it not? It took him years to admit that Obama was not born in Kenya, but his supporters still believe it because he kept telling them that it was true. Now they believe that Obama tapped his phone because Trump told them that it was true. How long will it take him to withdraw this canard? How is this any way to run a Government? How can this sleazy, thin-skinned, self-obsessed liar be President of anything, anywhere? And what the hell is America going to do about it?

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Talking of effluent, let us cheer ourselves up with the week’s sartorial shite, starting in London with ex-TOWIE person (and gymnast) Pascal Craymer, wearing who knows what.

It is like the end of The Maltese Falcon when they take beautiful but dodgy Brigid O’Shaughnessy away in the lift, only Pascal is in her bra and panties, not a fur coat. 

To Germany and actress Nicole Kidman, wearing Gianbattista Valli.

You see Readers, you can be fully covered and still look dreadful. Nicole is a woman of mature years but is dressed in a $20,000 kiddies’ nightdress, like Wendy from Peter Pan.

 Singer Christina Milian wearing Rubin Singer.

Christina looks as if she is being squeezed out of both ends of a tube. WTF cannot but feel that she needed to take a size up.

Rapper Kent Jones wearing who knows what at the iHeart Radio Awards.

Look, WTF knows that these are music awards but Kent looks like the man who has come to mend the boiler. WTF is also wondering how he manages to get in and out of the outfit, particularly at wee-wee time.

Singer Daya was also there, wearing Balmain.

Daya has rehashed this horror, previously worn in a brown version by Jennifer Lopez. That one made JLo look as if she had rolled in pigshit. This one makes Daya look as if she has been spray-painted but the painters ran out of paint. Both versions are to be deplored but at least Jennifer’s hugged her curves. This one is hanging off Daya and looks ridiculous….

As was singer Halsey, wearing Versace.

Er….love, you’re confused. That isn’t a top. That is a belt. It is supposed to go around your waist. It is not supposed to be wrapped around your tits with the perforations leaving indentations like the aftermath of a frenzied woodpecker attack.

And finally from these Awards, model Hunter McGrady wearing  a mash-up of Chromat, Prabal Gurung for Lane Bryant and FTF.

Hunter apparently threw this outfit together. WTF saw it and threw up. It can best be described as porno-dungeon-dominatrix whilst the bodice, if such it can be called, resembles a broken cage with a built-in bra.

To Paris and singer Nicki Minaj,  wearing a Mugler jacket and a pair of leather shorts by Givenchy. Mind how you go with this one!. Seriously!!

Givenchy is not to blame and it is not often that you can say those particular words. The shorts are yummy. Mugler, however, is guilty as hell because had it produced a jacket with two sleeves rather than one, as is the usual practice, Nicki would not have succumbed to the urge to compensate for the asymmetry. She could have kept her tit inside her jacket, rather than whipping it out and sticking a nipple pasty on it like an ultra-shiny band-aid. She is also wearing ski-goggles, the purpose of which is not immediately apparent.

Do you know what, Readers? they are all so bad that we need a poll to decide on the worst.