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The whole presidency is a super-spreading occasion.

Unmasked fools on the foot of Typhoid Trump.

Night Owls, a themed open thread, seems at Daily Kos seven days every week


At New York journal, Olivia Nuzzi writes—The Entire Presidency Is a Superspreading Event. Down in the polls, high on steroids, and clinging to good health while endangering everyone else’s:

[…] In the hospital, Trump’s world shrank in a single day in a manner it hadn’t since he arrived in Washington from New York to be sworn into workplace almost 4 years in the past. Contagious and remoted from his household and closest aides, he was accompanied by Dan Scavino, the social-media director who had first been his caddie and had survived at his facet longer than anybody who wasn’t blood, and Mark Meadows, his extremely emotional chief of employees, who slept in a room close by, and was attended to by a workforce of camera-conscious medical doctors. In this sterilized confinement, he tried to distract himself from his sickness. He plotted his escape, deliberate public-relations stunts, watched TV, and took calls from buddies, members of his employees, and Republican lawmakers. But he remained consumed by what the medical doctors informed him about his probabilities of survival. It wasn’t a positive factor.

Nine months into the pandemic and one month away from Election Day, the president thought of for the primary time that the illness killing him within the polls, threatening his political future, may simply kill him, too. On the telephone he remarked sarcastically, “This change of scenery has been great.”

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