It should have been a good week for Donald Trump. A new ceasefire in Gaza went into effect. Back at home, while the government shutdown seems to be backfiring on the broader Republican party, for the president it just means more time for cheating at golf! Between rounds, he went to the doctor for his “semi-annual” check-up and was pronounced fit as a mildly obese fiddle. Also, while he somehow didn’t win the Nobel Peace Prize, the actual winner, Venezuelan opposition leader María Corina Machado, dedicated the prize, in part, to him for his efforts to foster regime change. So why is our precious POTUS all up in his feels?

Over the last couple days, Trump has lamented again that he’s unlikely to get into heaven, complained about the photo TIME magazine used of him for its new cover story, and expressed the 10,000 percent accurate opinion that his body wouldn’t be “appreciated on the beach.”

For whatever reason—age, illness, infirmity, self-loathing, the fact that the whole world hates him—47 seems to be a lil’ bit down in the dumps. We can’t have that! I won’t........

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